


Red Expectations

by bracari



Series: Not so Dickensian [4]
Category: Bleak House - Charles Dickens, Dickensian (TV), Great Expectations - Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby - Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens, Our Mutual Friend - Charles Dickens
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bracari/pseuds/bracari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Couple. Flatmates. Con Men.<br/>Friends. Lovers. Couple.</p><p>The evolution of Arthur and Meriwether as they find out the fun in being partners.<br/>The progression of Amelia and Honoria as they discover what they truly mean to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you look good in red

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring Arthur being a con man, abuse of Meriwether and Honoria's POV and (hopefully) surprising new appearances!

Meriwether woke up the following day to a startling thought. Before bothering with his pyjama and socks, he walked across the room, reached into his pocket and removed his phone. Unlocking it with a swipe of his finger, he threw it to the sleeping boy without even a moment’s consideration.

Arthur lifted his head, spotted Meriwether and the phone and sunk back down.

“No.” he mumbled “Too early.”

“You have to call inspector Bucket!” Meriwether all but shouted.

Arthur snorted, reclining on the sofa as it was his propriety. If one took into consideration the amount of time he spent in the damned thing, it might as well be. He was surprised that he had not formed an indentation yet.

“No, you don’t understand. He’ll look me up if you don’t.”

That, at least, drew his attention. Looking upwards with a put-on front, he made a great show out of stretching and picking the phone on his lap. Meriwether frantically searched for the strip of paper, finding out it had somehow travelled to the inside pocket on the coat.

“Here.” he said, sitting down on the sofa and sticking it to the boy’s chest “Call the policeman.”

Arthur frowned. “Did you say Bucket?”

Meriwether nodded.

“As in inspector Bucket from the Mayfair police station?”

Meriwether nodded with some degree of confusion. He had just told him that.

“As in the inspector whose number I lost back in December?”

Arthur sighed as Meriwether made a face and a sort of disbelief ran across him.

“It doesn’t matter.” he told him with a small smile “It’s just amusing.”

He called him, and the inspector picked up on the third ring.

Arthur sketched a smile. “Hum, hello? Inspector Bucket? I don’t know if you remember me but my name is Arthur.”

He was outright interrupted and allowed his smile to grow wider.

“Yes, I’m alright. Yes, so I’ve heard. No, he’s...no.”

Meriwether glared. They were talking about him.

“No, I’m not at home. I mean, I sort of am. But not at” at this, he paused for a few seconds and shut his eyes briefly “not at my sister’s house. But I’m alright.”

Meriwether thought that he should stop using the word ‘alright’ so much lest the inspector suspect otherwise. As he heard one side of the conversation, he felt some confusion about what they meant by a suitcase. As Arthur apologised over and over again only to be interrupted by the man, he wondered if it was the same Dodger had shoved into his hands two days ago and that was currently was hidden in the closet, out of anyone’s  way.

He released a relieved breath when the boy finished the call.

“Is it done?” he asked him “It was still under 48 hours.” Barely, but technically true.

It was Arthur’s time to frown. “48 hours?”

Meriwether did not explain and rose to find something for breakfast. It was a Friday and even if he had no weekends to speak of, he was eager to start a longer one. He wouldn’t be going out that day due to Arthur’s recent decision. He’d been surprised to the conversation they’d had after his bath, when he had lied down in the sofa and asked for Meriwether to teach him how to be a con man. He had thought the boy would be happy just to be a sidekick and help him out, but if this new-found assertiveness was something he could yet make money out of, he would be a fool to refuse.

Meriwether had never taught anything before. He had left school early but he had learned nothing useful from his teachers. Arthur had studied for longer than he had but he was willing to bet he had not gotten anything of practical value either. All he had spoken of during their dates had been authors, literature and theatre. From his small conversations with Amelia, he could tell she was a lot more down to earth. Her understanding of engineering and numbers could at least be applied to her job at the brewery. Not for the first time, Meriwether wondered at the course the boy had been leading.

And now, he chose to be a con man.

He filled a kettle for what seemed like the first time in months. He had made Arthur do it, recently, and the times he woke in another place he had either grabbed something from their fridge before he left in a haste or gone to a coffee store and spent money he wished he could have used for clothes.

The boy pattered up to him and peeked. “My, I did not know you could do it.”

“Piss off.” he muttered, watching intently the kettle for any sign of bubbles.

“Do you have anything to eat?” Arthur asked, too close.

“Yes, I think so.” he told him, guarding his territory “Look inside that cupboard.”

Arthur looked. “No, the middle one.”

“There are four.”

“No, it’s-oh nevermind.”

He opened the door that stood inches above Arthur’s head. “There. Biscuits and sliced bread.”

“Do you have jam?”

“Christ, Arthur. You made breakfast just a week ago. _You_ tell me!”

“No jam then.” he pouted “I want jam.”

There was a bottle of brandy in the cupboard as well, three-quarters full and used only after the longest days when people were whiny and the sex was not worth it. Meriwether would like to have a sip right now.

“Buy your own fucking jam if you have the money.”

Arthur reached for the biscuits and fell quiet. Meriwether breathed in relief and the kettle started to boil. Reaching for the second cupboard, he removed the pot full of dry tea leaves and dropped a considerable amount into the kettle.

Meriwether did not know how to make tea. His tea was terrible and bitter and he had no sugar, so he understood the face Arthur made when he was forced to drink it. Had the positions been reversed, he’d have poured it down his shirt. As it was, he pretended the drink was just the way he liked it and that Arthur was in the wrong.

The boy munched on too many biscuits and stared at the small window just beyond the sofa. Meriwether ate the dry bread wishing for jam too.

“First off,” he told him once the boy had finished eating “there is the _mark_.”

Arthur seemed confused for a few moments before remembering the promise Meriwether had made the previous night. He proceeded to stand up straight and then deflate just as quickly.

“Wait.” he said, sounding forlorn “I don’t have a notebook.”

“Why would you need a notebook?”

“So I won’t forget what you tell me.”

Meriwether breathed in deeply. “Arthur, this is not a school. You don’t need a notebook.”

Arthur did not seem too sure about that, hands still splayed across the tabletop as if expecting paper and pen to come to his aid. That was why the school system did not work, making people dependent on this kind of tools for the simple task of _listening_. He supposed it was just as well. This way he’d have more foolish victims to choose from, ones who talked too much about themselves and did not listen to what others had to say.

“Trust me.” Meriwether affirmed, “You’ll remember.”

He nodded, clearly now at a loss because if he didn’t have a notebook to look at while he listened to Meriwether, he’d have to look him in the eyes.

“The _mark_ .” Meriwether repeated “That’s when you choose the person you want to trick. Say you’re in Convent Garden and you sit in a coffee shop and listen to the people talking. You hear the patron talk to them, treat them individually. You see their response. Sometimes they will fend them off. Sometimes they will confide in the patron and tell them their worries, their personal issues. Your job is to be as approachable as that patron. Make them _trust_ you and want to be your friend. Compliment them if they’re vain, listen if they are weary. Ask how they’re doing at school, how work is going. People will do anything for attention. Show them just a glimpse of it and they’ll open up.”

Meriwether had countless cases to choose from when he had first started out and let things run longer than he should have. There had been a time he had preferred longer cons because he thought they would have a bigger profit. When that turned out to be untrue, he had started to approach people with increased focus and a specific goal. He knew he wouldn’t gather much money from the younger ones, but he could ascertain if they had wealthy relations. Asking them for money, they would ask said relatives, who would be sweet to them and would have wanted to please as much as the person in question wanted to please Meriwether. Then the person would have been so ashamed to have been scammed they would not report or complain to the wealthy relative.

“They will tell you things they would never tell to a stranger because a stranger doesn’t care. You just need to pretend to care and then suddenly you’re a better friend than their best friends. This despite the fact that they have probably known you for two or three days.”

He looked at Arthur, assessing if he had been following him.

“You could be a therapist, you know?” Arthur told him, looking vaguely worried “If you weren’t so evil.”

“I know, right?” he agreed, mind already turning to the next stage.

“This depends on how forward the person is, but you can ask to meet them again if they don’t do it themselves.” he suggested “They will invariably feel flattered and start calling you by your name to see if you’re becoming close. You start to call them by their personal name as well and they will think you are being truthful. If they ask you about your personal life, try to shape it so they can connect to it.”

He had never tried to tell a real story, but he understood the lighting on a story could dramatically change it. It was all a matter of the point of view. Having a distant relationship with one’s family could turn into being orphaned. Leaving school at an early age could become not fitting in at school. Having a criminal record could become a series misunderstandings or, better yet, a change of life. The usual sob stories.

“Lie, of course.” he continued “Omit the facts, enhance the feelings involved. _Play_ them, make them emotional about your well-being. Try to understand their deepest desires. Have a smashing first date, two at most and some kisses and you’ll have them on their knees. Make promises if you must but make them forget about-”

“Everything else” Arthur completed “Like they’re living in another world.”

Meriwether blinked and glanced at Arthur. The boy looked downwards at his hands, rubbing circles with one. Oh. Right.

“Exactly.” he said, pausing for a few seconds and trying to gauge the possible effect of his next explanation.

“And then you start asking things. Say, I paid for the previous lunch and I took you to the Shard so you will definitely show me the country cottage in Kent, right?”

Arthur winced. Meriwether continued.

“At first, they say no because it’s too much. It’s the same thing with money, by the way. You ask them for a big amount and then they say no. You ask for a smaller one, and they will consider it. You ask them for the Kent house and they take you to your family home in London because that’s the next best thing and they feel guilty.” he paused again and looked meaningfully at Arthur “Only, your purpose all along was to go to the family home.”

Meriwether was very pleased with Arthur’s fulminating look.

“So now the person in question is hooked. They want to please and continue to get all the attention or love or sex or friendship they’re getting from you so they’ll accept your demands because they are much more reasonable than that first thing you suggested.”

Arthur started playing with his tea, sloshing the thing around in his cup like he was considering throwing at Meriwether’s face.

“The only thing left now is to reap all you’ve sown. Even if you were to confess at this point, they would be so hung up on the attention and the idea they have of you, they will want to keep the illusion.” he chuckled “Pitiful things, they will actually believe anything you’ll say and keep confiding in you. I’ve had people who asked _me_ if they had done something wrong. There were people who begged for forgiveness. People who tried really hard to contact me when I vanished when they had given me all I wanted. They see the facts but choose to ignore them because things like that happen to _other_ people.”

He wasn't talking about dumb people either. Smart, rich, privileged people with experience who really should have known better. Widows who felt too ashamed to sue him, caught in their own ridicule of thinking that a handsome young man would have wanted them for love. Rich men who could not have their reputation harmed in any way or people who had spouses and children and shouldn’t have done anything in the first place. Sometimes blackmail was a bonus, but he couldn’t tell Arthur about that one could he? It was one thing to make a demonstration, and another to be cruel.

“So you simply play with emotions.” Arthur told him “Half-truths and pretending to care.”

Meriwether nodded. That was the jest of it.

“I never stood a chance.” he finished, sounding small.

He didn’t. But then again, so was the case of most people.

“Now picture this happening in other situations.” Meriwether told him “In the subway to the stranger who is holding a book who _happens_ to be your favourite. In a store to the person who _happens_ to catch the item you just dropped. In a square to the tourist who _happens_ to be heading the same way you are. It’s all a series of planned coincidences.”

They remained in silence for a bit. Arthur had retreated into himself again and he could almost see the gears turning in his head.

“You spoke about desire.” he started after a while “I mean, I guess I understand that. It was easier with me because you helped me at the bar and I felt like I owed you.”

He paused, looked at Meriwether for a few moments and then groaned.

“Oh god. You spiked the drink, didn’t you?”

“Technically,” Meriwether answered, “Silas did.”

“Technically you are a prick.”

“It worked.” And that was what mattered the most.

Arthur frowned. “But then that means that you already knew I would be there.”

“Yes,” he admitted, leaving it at that. He wouldn’t tell him about researching the Havishams in  early October. Or watching the boy’s school, speaking to a student who left for the weekend about planned outings. Hearing that this time both Pocket and Havisham would go somewhere.

“But you said you develop the con _after_ meeting the person. Wasn’t that against your _modus operandi_?” Arthur asked him, leaning forward on the table.

Despite feeling flattered with having his proceedings described in such a way, the one thing that had been against his usual way of doing thing had been taking the boy in. Seeing as Arthur would not get an answer about that, he ignored the jab.

“So, once you got to the date you had planned beforehand, what did you use to get under my skin?”

“I started by complimenting your family, your house. You were eager to show off but still held back. Then you said something about ranking in your family and I knew where to strike. I asked you about home, listened to complaints about your father, your position in Satis House. I knew right on the first date that you were not out. You spoke about being seen as only a Havisham. About speaking with only two boys at school. Not outright, of course, but there was a pattern when you spoke about school. You either talked about the subjects, overwhelmingly literary, or just two people. Pocket or Peter. It wasn’t hard to realise you felt alone and like an outcast because of your sexual orientation.”

Arthur nodded, no doubt feeling the blow of having been read so easily.

“So I knew the relationship I had to develop with you would have to be sexual. You wouldn’t get as dependent otherwise because you drove everyone away. That you gave other boys oral in school made it more important. They treated you badly yet you came back to them. If I treated you with _tenderness_ , you’d fall in love.”

There was a long silence following his little speech. Meriwether half-expected the boy to cry or shout at him, but he did neither. He simply swallowed, ran a finger across the rim of the cup a couple of times and got up.

“I need to buy jam.” he said, reaching with a hand towards Meriwether in a silent request.

Meriwether set a few bills on the outstretched hand. “Buy lunch too.”

Arthur nodded and exited the flat with haste. Meriwether glared at the two dirty cups and set them on the sink. Let the boy deal with them later.

 

* * *

 

 

When Arthur came back a few hours later - probably having roamed the area to fill the time - he came back with a phone. When Meriwether asked him about it, he told him he had seen a friend who had a spare. Meriwether let him be enigmatic for once in his life and simply dove for the Korma from his favourite place. The rich scent of the food made his mouth water. That bread had definitely been not a good enough breakfast and the almonds and coconut milk in the dish made him feel especially satisfied.

They started to eat in silence and finished eating in silence. When Meriwether cleared his throat for a couple of times and still Arthur had not looked up, he slammed his hand on the table to get his attention. Arthur startled and his eyes were not wet, nor did they seem to have been in the last hours. He was a bit disappointed in that. The boy cried beautifully.

“Are you ready for the second part of your lesson?” he asked.

Arthur nodded and removed the dishes from the table. They joined the breakfast cups and Meriwether knew one of them had to clean at some point and it’d be boring for the unlucky one. Maybe they could set up a system. That was what people did with flatmates, wasn’t it?

Arthur came back and sat down at the table, not demanding a notebook this time.

“There are other methods.” he told him “ Some involve some things I already told you about, others may come off as a surprise. Traditional scams. Bank scams. Internet scams. E-mails, dating websites and fake receipts. Fake companies, even. It takes very little to make things believable.”

He had done some of those in the past but they were not his favourite activities.

“And then there are many ways to carry out longer cons, one that you really do need to dedicate yourself to and the person must not suspect at any time. You can pretend to be the friend of a friend or the friend of a cousin. They’ll never check because they’ll be too embarrassed to have forgotten about you. And if the friend trusts you, _of course_ they should as well.”

Those ones did work rather well. He had once convinced a banker that he was his wife’s best friend and he did not suspect when Meriwether pretended to be surprised that said wife had never mentioned his name. The man had become flustered and said that he probably had heard his name, _actually, he knew he had, he had just forgotten because women could talk very much and a man had to zone out sometimes, right?_

Chauvinist pigs. Those were fun to blackmail.

“You can also pretend to be a lawyer” he continued “or an insurance consultant, for that matter, and they’ll think _oh, this is such an important person. Everything they say must be true_.”

Arthur glared at him. “My sister fell for that.”

“I think Honoria was the only one not to believe it.” he confessed, thinking of the damned socks.

“My favourite one really comes down to them and what I read on their expression. If they’re more caring, I’ll play the victim card. Say I’m in need of money and only they can save me and say that _I usually wouldn’t ask for this but I’m desperate. I’ll owe you forever._ That usually works, but then you have the other side of the coin. You’ll tell them you are about to get money of some sort but you need to have a fund and that you trust them enough to let them in as long as they give you some money in advance.”

He stopped and frowned. He had only done that once and it had been horrible. He’d only gotten a small amount and the man nearly turned him to the police. He had needed to use physical force in that one.

He cleared his throat. “The main thing is to simply play people’s dishonesty. It’s easier than the opposite if you know how to seduce them.”

“You didn’t use that one on me.” Arthur interrupted.

“How do you know I’m not doing that now?” Meriwether asked. He wasn’t, but doubt could be fruitful. Arthur said nothing.

“But sometimes people are still hesitant because they met you in that week or that day. It’s all too recent and they won’t dive headfirst into any idea. You need to have time on your side on these occasions. If you give them a small amount of time for a decision, they won’t be able to ask other people for their opinion or to think their own through. They’ll be emotional and just choose what they _feel_ is best.”

“That’s sick,” Arthur commented.

“Thank you.” Meriwether replied “But that’s about it. You need to be able to read people well, and to react to their actions the best way you can.”

“That sounds like a lot of trouble.” Arthur said, sounding overwhelmed “And a lot of work. Is it worth it?”

“Well, the money’s nice. You need to get money when you live in this city,” he replied.

“But wouldn’t, you know, working at a store or something, be easier?”

Meriwether blinked. “I don’t follow you.”

“Like, if you worked honestly like other people do you probably wouldn’t get as much money but you wouldn’t live with the constant fear of being caught either.”

Meriwether gestured for him to go on. Arthur shot him a disbelieving look.

“I just think you’re working harder than you would if you had a stable job and salary.”

“Ah, but you’re wrong in assuming there are stable jobs anymore.” he told him “Arthur, jobs are a myth now. You have the work and the work has you. I have my work. I don’t have to be ordered around by someone who is a boss only by chance and privilege. I don’t have to work when I don’t feel like it. I am not being exploited by a corporation who couldn’t care less if I showed up to my work whilst ill as long as I produced.”

Arthur nodded as if he was trying to process that. The boy had clearly lived sheltered for most of his life so it was no wonder he thought everyone had a job like his sister, or his sister’s friend, or the employees at the brewery.

“Plus, “ he added with a grin “isn’t this far more fun?”

“You have a twisted notion of what fun is supposed to be.”

“You’re the rich boy who wants to be a con man. Why don’t _you_ work at a store?”

Arthur sighed and ignored the question. “This is all too complicated for me. I can’t do what you do and just! You know!”

Meriwether raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Like, fool people!”

Meriwether sighed. All he had said was a fine theorization of what he did, but Arthur had no experience. He could be a liability if he tried any of the things he suggested without supervision.

“You could always use the computer for a while.” he suggested, mind already turning “Use the dating sites and e-mails.”

He had never gotten the hang of that. Some websites worked for his goals, others certainly drove him away from it. He hated technology because it was difficult to work around. He much preferred people, who were easily swayed and convinced and did not beep loudly when he hit the wrong key. He’d never admit to that, of course. Especially not to Arthur.

“Do you want to try?” he asked, already reaching for the computer.

Arthur jumped in his seat. “God, it’s been a while since I used a computer!”

Meriwether had denied him a phone when he asked for one little under a month ago. He’d been honestly pissed at him for something so of course he had said no. It would have avoided the whole going missing debacle, however. Meriwether would imagine that it would be hell, someone so young having to be away from technology. He’d never admit that out loud either. He would sound ancient.

He turned the thing on and it beeped as it tended to. Then Windows asked for an actualization and he’d have smashed the thing to pieces if it wasn’t for the boy sitting in front of him. He’d never live that one down.

It took over fifteen minutes for the thing to be ready. Meriwether waited patiently and Arthur pointedly did not comment. He had not used his computer in a long time, seeing as there had been no need when a smartphone was all one needed to access files and contact people.

“It’s done!” Arthur suddenly exclaimed, grabbing the laptop and frowning at the password request. Meriwether took over, blocking Arthur’s face with his shoulder and typing the thing two times before being granted access. Arthur pretended not to notice.

“There.” he told him, browsing his smartphone for the note with passwords “There’s wifi.”

Arthur nodded, clicked the browser and glanced at Meriwether. He sighed and showed him the password.

“You have ten minutes.”

He walked away, leaving him to his privacy and telling himself not for the first time that day that he needed to have the situation under his control. It was one thing to have a partnership, another to defer to someone else. He was sure about Arthur’s intentions because he seemed determined enough about regaining his agency. His reasons were murkier, but Meriwether though Arthur did not know his own mind. Meriwether would show him. He was looking forward to this new phase since he had never had a partner before. Magwitch did not count. If anything, it proved he needed to have the upper hand at all times.

He glanced back and observed the boy.

Arthur had not cut his hair since the month he had come to live with Meriwether. His curls, still soft from the bath of the previous day, looked like woven gold. Greedily, Meriwether reached for them, trying to remember their texture.

Arthur jumped as soon as he felt the fingers graze his skin. Meriwether looked him in the eye. He looked angry, fierce. He never did quite predict what he would get bothered about.

“If we are to do this,” he told him with fierceness “you’re not to touch me again.”

Meriwether raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t get to manipulate me this way again.”

“I can manipulate you in other ways.”

Arthur raised his chin, looking so much like his sister he was surprised he wasn’t ignoring Meriwether at all. Or at least stomp off with a tantrum.

“And I’ll defend myself.”

Meriwether stared him down for a few tense moments before giving up and abandoning the dining table in favour of the sofa.

"You should wear your hair pushed back.” he said, pointedly ignoring what had just happened “You'll look like a kid otherwise. If not, at least cut the damned thing."

He heard Arthur resume his typing, probably messaging someone on facebook or check two-months worth of emails.

“You need to dress sharply if you want to make people think you actually deal with any business.” he continued “Your physical age should have no influence. You can wear clothes that age you and clothes that make you look younger. But you need other clothes.”

This did make Arthur stop and listen.

“What’s wrong with these clothes?” Arthur asked, looking down at his hoodie and ripped jeans.

Meriwether sighed “You really have no idea, do you?”

Arthur looked down again and shrugged. He had no idea. He wasn’t worth that Burberry.

“New clothes, and that’s final.”

 

* * *

 

 

They went shopping the following day. Seeing as it was a Saturday, every store in the East End that held any sort of good clothing was packed. Most clothes were overpriced and he was sure he could find better ones in the Soho, but he would make do with what he had at hand. He doubted the boy would appreciate going so near Satis House.

They were at a discount store when he noticed a couple inspecting the jacket section with some intensity. They kept hitting each other in the shoulder and giggling at the clothing they saw. They had some reason to. The fabric was hideously coloured, tacky at best, and something Meriwether would never be caught but that Arthur might think as wearable. The purpose of this visit was to avoid just that.

“See those two?” he pointed with his chin “ They look rich but I wouldn’t want to fuck with either of them.”

Arthur looked over. “They are not that ugly.”

“Oh, no. They’re attractive enough. But look at their body language, They can’t get the paws off each other.”

“So you wouldn’t have the heart to tear them apart?”

Meriwether rolled his eyes. “Arthur, there is nothing I wouldn’t have the heart to do.”

“No,” he repeated “They’re siblings. Look at the hair colour. I mean, they would both be clingy. If chose to take advantage of either of them, they’d hunt me down.”

Arthur’s frown cleared. “Ah.”

Meriwether thought he understood. Somewhat. They moved along to another aisle.

“But how can you predict their behaviour?” Arthur asked after a few minutes of watching a row of patterned yellow t-shirts he would be deluded to think Meriwether would allow him to wear. Never with Arthur’s hair colour.

“Don’t people ever surprise you?” he added, imitating what Meriwether had done with every piece of clothing he had found of good quality and touching the scratchy fabric of the offensive items.

“No.” he lied. There was one person who had.

Arthur moved over to a stack of jeans and those, Meriwether supposed, were good enough. Arthur’s older jeans were of astoundingly good quality but very bland. Meriwether much preferred the cut these ones had. They would make Arthur’s ass look like something instead of the deceiving nothing the sweat pants accomplished.

“There is, of course, the attractiveness of the con man.” he told him as he picked a pair of jeans “It’s a tool like any other. I think you’ll have more luck with that.”

Arthur looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re fishing for compliments.” Meriwether admonished.

“I am not!” Arthur complained, “I don’t think I’m attractive at all!”

Meriwether looked at him with suspicion but truth be told, Arthur seemed earnest in his perception.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“I honestly do not know!” Arthur hissed with disproportionate anger, shoving a shirt back in the rack. Meriwether understood. The first person who had paid him any attention had been trying to get his money. The others, he supposed, had been paying for sexual favours. Looks and financial worth were correlated in Arthur’s experience. Cautiousness was prone to arise.

“Insecurities are not desirable in this occupation, Arthur.”

He fell quiet for a few moments, only to had in a small voice. “You know I had issues before.”

Of course, he did. It had been abundantly clear when they first had sex. He had played it as well. He wouldn’t tell Arthur what kind of tricks he would use in bed that better supported the other ones. Mostly because he’d recognise them. Body worshipping was a thing, one that he had often relegated to when people were being troublesome whilst he was trying to seduce them. He had used with Arthur and his soft stomach, his proud nose and awkward existence.

“Maybe you’ll stop once you realize that attractiveness has nothing to do with physical looks.” he stated, shoving the jeans onto Arthur’s chest “It’s all about how people _see_ you, not if your eyes are too big or your stomach is too protruding or if you have a big cock or the smallest penis.”

Arthur did not seem convinced.

“Remember what you said about being in a whole different world or something?”

Arthur nodded. “Well, do you think you went into that position because I was handsome or because you felt we had a connection?”

“Well, now that you put it that way, definitely the second. I mean, the guys at school were good-looking. They were big and muscled, but a bunch of bastards.”

Meriwether thought Arthur was yet to realise it, but the boy had a clear type. Big, bulky, strong. Funny how he fell into his hands when he was the antithesis of that.

“See? So it shouldn’t matter if you don’t have the perfect hair or body because people will overlook that when you play them the right way. Being confident is also a bonus. If you don’t think you have flaws, it’s easier for people not to see them.”

Arthur nodded again. “But aren’t I supposed to know my strong physical points if I want to lure them in the first place?”

The boy had a point. But Arthur had always underestimated himself. He looked at his curls and fair skin, his brown eyes, his rather petite figure. Girls adored this sort of thing. The boy’s sexual orientation might get in the way of that demographic, but it’d be a sure shot. He’d only have to kiss them and they would think him too innocent for anything else. He looked too young for anything else, to be honest. Perhaps they would need to start with gay bars or men’s clubs, something the boy was familiar with. He would undoubtedly be popular in those places with older men and Meriwether’s guidance would prove fruitful.

He looked at him up and down again. He thought he’d look good in red. A red henley, a jacket, maybe a scarf. Attracting the big sharks with blood and trapping them in the net Meriwether set.

“Trust me.” he assured him “You’ll be the perfect lure.”

 

* * *

 

They had not bought much. Shoes, the red items and jeans and that had been it. They sorted through the clothes during Saturday night and covered the bed with them. Arthur cleaned the dishes and they ate the sandwiches they had bought. When they were both full and feeling rather lazy, Meriwether challenged Arthur into making acceptable clothing choices and it somehow turned into a game of horrible outfits creation. The boy was imaginative, he had to give him that.

It was after the latest exchange of sarcastic remarks and Meriwether implying the lack of personal style to be a family trait that Arthur did not rise to his probing and asked a question instead.

“How did you start being, you know, a con man?” he asked, laying on the bed between a shirt and a shoe.

“Are you reaching for a sob story?”

“Maybe.” he replied, “I would like to understand better.”

Meriwether paused. He had never told anyone his story before and he had doubted he ever would, mostly because it was difficult to keep the versions apart from the truth. He reached, and sighed.

“I don’t think my past makes it easier to understand” he stated but since you’re being so cooperative, I don’t have anything better to do.”

He had. Anything was better than speaking about the past that no longer mattered. But he found he quite liked to see Arthur’s reaction to things Meriwether fancied to tell him. Halfway between shocked and admiring, his interest was a rare wave of excitement regarding his profession that had never attracted people before.

“I grew up in an orphanage in Shropshire. In a small village Alderton.” he started “Never knew mum and dad, don’t know if they’re alive. Don’t particularly care at this point.”

Arthur nodded as if he understood, undoubtedly picturing Meriwether growing askew because he had been unloved as a child. Ridiculous.

“I started with some minor thefts when I was a teenager. Shoes, candy, sometimes books. I stole from the other kids and the teachers and the helpers. The director once. Then the minor thefts became greater ones. And then I turned sixteen and I was a bit too cunning for the orphanage folks and they told me to go. They never caught me in the act, of course, but they knew I was going to be trouble, even from that age.” he chuckled “They really had no idea.”

“I tried to keep doing it in Alderton, only outside the orphanage. I couldn’t, of course. The town was too small. They all knew me and it didn’t take long for me to get into trouble. I can’t remember what it was about. I decided to move to London and have been here ever since.”

Arthur hummed and Meriwether observed him from the sofa with a raised eyebrow.

“I learned to fend for myself here, to take advantage of people. Just like in the orphanage, only now I have to look out for the metropolitan police.”

“Have you ever been arrested?” Arthur asked, turning on his side.

Meriwether outright laughed. “Fuck no. But I lost count to the number of times I ended up in a police car. Especially in my teens. Those were wild ones.”

“That must have been a long time ago,” Arthur commented. Meriwether squinted

“Are you trying to figure out my age?”

“Of course. You didn’t even tell me your age, back then.”

“If you must know, I’m twenty-eight.”

Arthur’s eyes bulged. Meriwether thought that was a bit insulting.

“Am I too old for you, Arthur?”

“You’re ten years my senior!”

Senior. That sounded as if he wore wearing polos and khakis.

“I can still make you moan.” Meriwether shot, watching Arthur flare up with indignation.

“You can still try.” Arthur shot back, making Meriwether smile with no small amount of pleasure. Oh yeah, he much preferred this feisty Arthur.

“I started in the big areas, of course. I thought that if they were big they would not have been as heavily policed as the others. I was wrong, of course. They got my name for that one, but I was a minor so they couldn’t arrest me. Besides, it was only a wallet.” he paused and grinned “They didn’t know about the other ones I hid behind a dumpster. They were still there when I returned.”

“But why didn’t you hide all of them. They wouldn’t have proof on your otherwise.” Arthur interrupted.

“It’s easier to forgive a kid for stealing only one thing and admitting it than to believe one that says he did not steal anything and that the other person is in the wrong.”

“I seduced a woman at a youth hostel in Bromley and she let me sleep in a spare room for as long as I whispered sweet things to her. She was nice,” he said, “but I eventually grew bored and tried to find somewhere else after a few months had passed and I had enough money saved to actually rent something.”

At this, he frowned. “I had not expected for food to be expensive as well. I couldn’t cook, I had a tiny room in a flat I shared with Law students and I was eighteen.”

“Is that why you have the book of English Law in your closet?”

Meriwether laughed. “That was my parting gift when I changed house again.”

“By _gift_ you mean _theft_ , right?”

Meriwether grinned in lieu of an answer. “They revised all the time. It was an awful background noise but things eventually stuck. I found myself creating ways to bend the law to my will, or at least to comprehend the occasions what would not get me into jail if I played my cards well. Now I do know why all lawyers are corrupt. Once you understand the system, to use it to your advantage is irresistible. I mostly use it to know my rights in the off-chance I am arrested. But I could have gone in another direction.”

“Why didn’t you become a lawyer yourself?” Arthur asked, leaning forward and disrupting the neat angle of the shoe Meriwether had painstakingly arranged.

Meriwether huffed. “You need a degree for that. And I wouldn’t be able to commit all the illegalities I do right now. No, I much prefer to be this way.”

“So you started to be a con man then?”

“Yes.” he replied because the story was much more complicated than that.

“Anyway, I found this flat about six years ago for a really cheap price. I had some dirt on the original owner. Fuck if I remember what. He’s still terrified.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“And that’s that,” he concluded. Arthur looked at him for a long time, probably trying to ascertain the hidden events and the timeline of his personal misgivings.

“Pretty boring,” Arthur replied. Meriwether got up and shoved him off the bed. The boy was learning fast.

 

* * *

 

 

They had a full week of rest after that. February came to an end and March arrived with increasingly windy days. Arthur still did not venture outside much, telling Meriwether that he wasn’t ready yet but that he could do some things with his computer in the meanwhile. He spent most of his days like that, typing away and editing images. He also travelled somewhere he did not know but must not be very far away since he did not spend any money in transportation and came either with a smile on his face or singing some song. He usually stopped whenever he saw Meriwether.

He was surprised at how good the boy was with technology. Not programming good, something that a company might utilise, but scam good. He had created over twenty accounts in five different dating websites and had scourged the internet for free stock photos that were bad enough to look like profile pictures of real persons. Arthur had some talent that Meriwether might make a use of.

It was one of these nights when Meriwether was about to ask what exactly the boy was doing with his laptop after spending a whole day away and returning to find him in the same position when there was a knock at the door.

Arthur did not seem to notice, wrapped up in facebook or something similar. That, he did know, was not part of the scam strategy and meant that the boy was doing nothing with his time. They would have a talk later about it.

Meriwether hesitated before grabbing the handle. He had a peephole for something, after all. It wouldn’t be the first time an injured soul attempted to contact him.

He peeked, saw the face and covered the hole again. Taking a few steps back, he leant against the table with his arms crossed. Arthur’s attention had, in the meanwhile, been gathered by the constant knocking. Looking at Meriwether, he gestured towards the door with confusion.

“I’m not opening it,” Meriwether explained. No way in hell.

Arthur got up with a long-suffering sigh, crossed the distance to the door and peeked as well. He looked back to Meriwether, sighed and opened the thing himself.

Matthew Pocket appeared in the doorway like some avenging spirit, eyebrows heavy but readily unknitting once he had seen who it was that had opened the door.

“Matthew!” Arthur exclaimed, voice seeming to sing the name.

The two cousins embraced and it was such an intimate moment Meriwether felt like he had to avert his eyes. Naturally, he looked closer. Arthur melted into Pocket’s hold, sighing softly against his cousin’s nape. Matthew folded his arms around the shorter of the two and Arthur whimpered. How lovely.

Meriwether coughed.

They parted but Pocket’s hand lingered on Arthur’s back as if protecting him. Meriwether thought that had come rather late.

“Mr Compeyson.” he gritted out, with a tension he had never associated with the easygoing teenager he had had no difficulties getting drunk back when he had gone to that bar in October.

“I take it you’ve been speaking with Honoria and Amelia.”

Pocket took a step forward but Arthur held him back, pulling him to his side in one swift moment. Pocket seemed to deflate under his cousin’s beseeching stare.

“I have been speaking with _Arthur._ ”

Meriwether looked at the boy and frowned. Had they met in Whitechapel? Had Pocket skipped school in order to be with his cousin, or was their first meeting this one, over the weekend? He remembered Arthur opening Facebook up. The multiple tabs, one always in the damned website.

“Of course.” he replied, “But do you know what he’s been up to, then?”

Pocket raised his chin and stared him down. “He hasn’t been up to a thing, I believe.”

“Not yet.” Meriwether countered. He was surprised that Arthur had been so forthcoming with his cousin. Meriwether would have thought him too ashamed to admit it to someone he cared about.

“I hope to convince him otherwise.” Pocket admitted, looking briefly at his cousin “But whatever he does, he has my full support.”

Meriwether had a lot to say to him, mainly questioning about the reason that led the two cousins to be apart for so long. He thought that meant Arthur did not want his approval. Maybe Pocket had yet to reach that conclusion,and he still equated the Arthur that held him back from probably pummeling Meriwether’s face with the Arthur that had grown up with him.

He said nothing and Arthur gathered his cousin’s attention again. Pocket nodded.

“You might want to smoke.” Arthur suggested, “This is going to take a while.”

Meriwether sighed. “Only because I want to.”

He chose not to go to the corridor but rather use the fire escape. Leaving an inch of the window open, he listened in. The cousins spoke for about twenty minutes, embraced again, and Pocket left. Meriwether pouted. He had wanted to have a big showdown with Arthur’s North Star.

It didn’t take long for Arthur to join him outside.

“The only ones who haven’t had a go at it were your relatives.” Meriwether commented, passing him the cigarette “I wonder if they think too highly of themselves to dirty their hands”

“They must think you are not worth it,” Arthur replied cheekily, taking the cigarette and inhaling deeply. Meriwether could slap _him_ for that.

“I am disappointed.” he said instead, leaning over the protection and looking despondently at the boy.

Arthur smiled slowly. “They have time yet.”

 

* * *

 

 

References:

A country house in Kent - Satis House is based off two real houses in Rochester, Kent. one is actually called Satis House and the other is Restoration House. 

Kurma - a dish that originates from South Asia that consists of meat or vegetables braised in a spiced sauce made with yoghurt, cream, nut or seed paste. (Source: wikipedia)


	2. red stained glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honoria and Mary are temporary philosophers and Amelia tries to make amends.

###  **CH 2 - stained glass in red**

 

The sun had already set, courtesy of the winter timezone. The kitchen, painted in whites and beiges, had already lost the softness of breakfasts with Amelia under the morning light and relied now on the yellow lamps above.

Satis House was not modern. It had maintained much of its original architecture and furniture. Only some of the wallpapers were kept, some of the older linens and crochets exposed in the corridors. One of the carpets was still from the Victorian era. The Hall was blatantly Art Déco and the living room was neo-classical with its perfect arches and white ceiling. The library was the one part she was sure to have retained its original configuration. The windows were still the original, one of them actually being a stained glass that described a scene of the bible, The Judgement of Solomon, in yellows and reds. The shelves were deeply engraved by the years and it was a secret pleasure of her just to run her fingers across the surface, feeling the centuries of literature that had lined them.

The corridors still had a narrowness that did not allow for much furniture so the majority of the decorations were paintings of the Havishams of days long past that seemed to haunt rather than represent the family’s story. The bathrooms were very modern, with tiles that were clearly twentieth century and roomy bathtubs and showers. The rooms were pretty much like the original ones, tiny with individual, far more recent beds. Only Mr Havisham’s room contained a double bed, and the room she shared with Amelia had two singles. Their room was more modern-looking and the footers seemed recent, which led Honoria the impression that it had once been two rooms.

Satis House was a mixture of eras, American and English furniture and styles mixing over the centuries as the brewery expanded and grew. The one thing that was completely modern was the kitchen Honoria currently occupied. She liked the kitchen best. The kitchen was for intimate moments between Amelia and her. The kitchen was for experimenting with food - the best she could do was a version of meatloaf she did not remember learning so it must have come from her mother. For nightly conversations with Mary over a cup of tea when all two - only two even at weekends now - Havishams were either working or discussing work in the office.

The kitchen was for when Honoria returned earlier than usual and was too tired to do anything else other than watch Mary work.

Her employer had been kinder to her, taken one look at her long face, and probably decided any further work from her would be more counter-productive than sending her home would. Thus, send her home he did and Honoria currently found herself in the kitchen, having a cup of tea at six o’clock in a March afternoon. Mary tinkered about, arranging the ingredients for some sort of dinner that would only be served at nine in the evening. Honoria observed as she removed four cuts of pork from the fridge and seasoned them in the most enigmatic form, opening the meat in some places and using pepper and garlic. At one point, she looked back at Honoria, then away, only to venture into the pantry and remove a bottle of Port. She then proceeded to douse the meat generously with the thing.

Honoria looked at her pointedly and Mary grabbed the bottle in defence against her chest.

“Dylis did it.” she explained. Honoria let out an understanding noise. Of course. She looked down at her tea and sighed.

She watched Mary open another cupboard, the clinking of glasses, and then something being slid on the tabletop towards her. A glass of port.

Looking up, she saw Mary already had her own glass as well.

“Sometimes tea is not enough.” she explained, downing the thing in one go. Honoria shrugged and did the same. She liked the substance, powerful and rich despite its reduced amount. When she came home to ask Mary to make her tea, she had thought a cuppa would be enough. Two cups made clear that it wasn’t.

“I needed that.” she observed, welcoming the burn in her throat.

Mary nodded and put the bottle back in its proper place. When she came back, she had a packet of pasta. It seemed they were going to have a simple dinner that night.

“I think I’ll want to eat separately today.” she informed her.

Frowning slightly, she turned to her. “Trouble at work?”

Honoria shook her head. Work was the most stress-free thing in her life at the moment. The tailor was renowned, he wasn’t struggling with the business they had. The amount of work was steady, didn’t have the need to raise the prices or to lower them. Kate worked wonderfully despite only having been with them for a few months. All three of them had no issues with each other and the dynamic between them made them more productive. Honoria would be awfully tired after an entire day on her feet, but it wasn’t unbearable. She had been very lucky to grab this gig.

“Then it must be Miss Amelia.” Mary commented.

Honoria rolled her eyes. “You know she prefers it when you call her by her name. No need for the  _ miss _ .”

Mary said nothing and Honoria knew she’d do it again.

“Mr Havisham does not like it.” she explained kindly.

“Mr Havisham does not like the family mingling with the help, you mean.” Honoria translated.

Mary shrugged. “It’s tradition.”

“It’s classist.” Honoria countered. She felt it too, despite being originally from the upper classes herself. A humble, not as traditionally-driven upper class but a richer class nonetheless. They did not have a high ancestral name nor were they part of history, but rich all the same. She had no right to complain then, but she did now. They had had this discussion many times before and Mary considered the tradition to be important still. She had been raised to feel a deferential respect towards the Havishams. Her father had been the previous butler of Satis House and especially devoted to the family. Honoria could still remember him, catching glimpses across the street from the house she had once lived in. When the man had gotten an aneurysm and died suddenly at the age of fifty, leaving a daughter in her early twenties, he probably had not dreamt the daughter would take the reigns of managing Satis House one day. Honoria had been already living at Satis House when it happened. 

Mary, who had been quite the little lamb up until that point, fearing that the work she had already been doing as a maid would be dismissed along with her, had stood up to the Havisham patriarch. She had stomped up to his office, still clad in black, and demanded that she be at least put on trial because her father had raised her to be a good worker. Astor had found the act so disconcerting that he had immediately told her nothing of the sort had even crossed his mind and that he was happy with her work. Then - to everyone’s surprise but especially Mary’s - she had been promoted to her father’s job. 

_ Hard work,  _ Astor Havisham had said,  _ that is the source of every reward to a self-made man or woman _ . And for the first time in the history of Satis House, a woman - a young woman - had been put in charge of all its domestic affairs. She dealt with the shopping lists, the meal arrangements, the parties when they happened, and contacted daily with Astor Havisham’s secretary to work out the kinks between his business and his home life. She hired all the help she thought they needed, sometimes cleaned if such was necessary, and basically was as important in the House as her employers. Honoria felt her job must be quite daunting, and wondered at how many hours Mary worked. Despite not doing an entire load of domestic work like vacuuming and dusting, she was the one to organise all that. The only chore she did not delegate was cooking. Since neither Honoria, Amelia nor her father found time to eat lunch at home, there would only be one major meal. Mary insisted on making dinner every night and handling the matter if any of the inhabitants of Satis House wished to eat something on the afternoon. Mary had learnt how to cook with Dylis and she often told Honoria it was her duty as her disciple.

Honoria might have her issues with Astor Havisham but she’d always be indebted to his kindness when she had needed it the most. She would also find herself in awe of his self-made system where everything seemed to be indeed possible. It was no wonder that Mary was loyal to him. Perhaps loyal enough to dismiss the injustice he committed against his own son.

“What would you call Arthur now?” Honoria asked her.

“Master Arthur.” she promptly replied.

“But technically he’s from a lower class now. He probably has less financial support than you do. He does not work, he lives with a criminal.  You’d still treat him as your superior?”

“It’s not a matter of superiority.” Mary told her “It’s a matter of pride.”

Honoria frowned. ”Explain.”

Mary sat down, unusually invested in the conversation. When they spoke, she usually carried on with her business and pretended to be busy.

“I pride myself in my job. I pride myself in handling the house, this great house. I pride myself in working for this family.”

She paused then, looking briefly at the forgotten tea cup.

“If Master Arthur does not have his name, what pride does he have now?” she asked. Honoria had no answer for that. A minuscule flat miles away from his home did not seem an appropriate reward for coming out. Whatever Arthur might have told Amelia, she thought with some bitterness.

“The least I can do is treat him the same.” Mary concluded.

Honoria leant back with surprise. She had never considered that perspective before. Mary seemed to view pride not as that prison of class and ranking, but rather of belonging. She was proud to work on a great house. Amelia was proud of being her own woman, with her own work and studies. Arthur had been proud of being someone of importance, of that she was certain. Astor Havisham had the pride to spare, reflected on every surface of Satis House, on his busy schedule and on the wide spaces of his breweries.

“Then why do you simply call me Honoria?” she asked “I used to be of a higher rank. I no longer speak with my family. My situation and Arthur’s are very similar.”

Mary smiled very sadly. “You still have your pride left, Honoria. You haven’t lost everything.”

Honoria had lost enough. Her home had been just a fraction of it. What pride could she have now, a tailor’s assistant with unreachables dreams of writing and fashion?

Mary started speaking again, interrupting her line of thought.

“You weren’t here when it happened. You have no idea.” Mary told her, shaking her head “He gave him ten minutes to gather his things. Mr Havisham, I mean. Arthur kept looking back. He thought his father would change his mind.”

“You never told me.” Honoria said. 

“Mr Havisham did not even leave his bedroom.” Mary continued “His only son. I wonder what Dylis would say about that.”

Honoria simply nodded, She had known her as Amelia’s mother - not Arthur’s - despite their non-existent blood relation. And she had an inkling that, had she been here, she’d never have stood for Arthur being kicked out like an unwanted guest. Unwilling to make Mary dwell on such matters for longer, she got up.

“Will you still want your dinner earlier?” she asked, arranging her impeccable apron.

Honoria nodded. “ Can you send it to my room?”

Mary said she’d take it herself.

 

* * *

 

She could not think of anything else for the night.

After speaking to Mary, she had stopped just before entering her room and looked up to what she had gotten to call the forbidden part of the house. The stairs that led to the attic and servant quarters in the floors above had become haunted in her mind. Everything about the place made her shiver irrationally. Arthur’s bedroom, a hidden secret. All because he had been an anomaly in his father’s heritage. One photo and he’d been spurned. Honoria had far more. Meriwether had found it out. She was sure Astor would be able to if he so wished.

For the hours that preceded Amelia’s arrival, all she could think of was pride and properness. All she could think of was that she could have been the same. All she could think of was a little lie - not even that, simply an omission - that had poked at for years, made her weary of her own history. The omission she was not proud of having.

When Amelia came in, she had clearly eaten. It was just under eleven in the evening and Honoria was typing away on the laptop Amelia had offered her in her previous birthday. 

She wore puce and yellow and Honoria was happy for it. Amelia had taken to wear black in the past few months and despite looking beautiful in everything she wore, Honoria did not wish for a misplaced mourning of her brother when he was still very much alive on the other side of London. When all it had taken was the con man that had tricked him missing him just enough to ask help from his sister’s best friend. 

She had been thinking of him for months now. Honoria really wanted her friend back.

When Amelia had worn black at Christmas and retired earlier, Honoria had suspected something was amiss.  When Honoria had not seen her in her bed and checked Arthur’s, she had found her curled around a stuffed bear. Amelia, who had been eating less and less and looking less proud by the day. 

All Honoria could think of now was pride and the stupid things it drove people to do, no matter what Mary said. Disinheriting a son. Failing a brother. Lying to a friend.

“Good evening.” she greeted, attempting a smile. Amelia smiled back, strained, and started undressing. The cold evening seemed to reach Honoria, as though heating had stopped working with Amelia’s arrival.

Honoria swallowed around a knot in her throat and continued typing, not really making sense of what she was writing. She had started with a simple description, trying to practice her metaphors and somehow it had all dissolved into a string of incomprehensible words.

Alliaceous rosary of chamomile intentions.

She hoped not to start spouting this sort of nonsense any time soon.

Minutes passed and Amelia got into her bed without uttering a word. The silence of the bedroom weighed heavily, settling on Honoria’s chest like lead. Her friend rested on the bed facing the opposite wall. There had been a time when they had bemoaned the small space between them. When they had joined the beds together, sliding the bedside table to the bottom of the room. Her pyjama might as well be made of chainmail, for all Honoria would have to do in order to reach her. How she missed the day when all it took was a sigh to have her attention. Now she did not even greet her back.

It took her a full minute to realise she was crying. When she tried to subtly sniff - a hard task even to the most experienced - Amelia raised her head from her pillow.

“Honoria?” she asked. The worry in her voice made Honoria turn her head. 

The lights were still on and she could see every line of worry and laughter on her face, every stray hair illuminated by the bedside lamps.

“It’s alright.” she replied. Not an answer, but an evasion. Honoria had thought herself above that.

Amelia was evidently not fooled and got up entirely, crossing the small distance between the two bed and sitting by Honoria’s side.

“What’s wrong?”

Honoria wiped a stray tear but said nothing. The list would be endless and she’d become hoarse by the time she finished. She doubted Amelia would stay around for the entirety of it either. She doubted she’d have much care for what Honoria had to say, She doubted, she doubted, she doubted. Never in their long friendship had she felt doubt toward what to tell or not to tell. Only once, before she had moved in. Never again. Never because of Amelia. What doubt could she, when everything that was warm and bright in her world came from the girl beside her?

“It’s nothing.” she repeated, not daring a glance. The screen of the laptop became black, the power button light pulsing every few seconds. She shut it, ran her hands over the surface, and closed her eyes. Honoria had her pride too. Mary was right.

She had to talk. She hasn’t lost everything, not when Amelia looked on at her with worry just inches away. Trusting. Listening.

“Is it about the way I’m treating you?” Amelia asked after a few moments. 

“Yes and no.” Honoria replied, which was as cowardly as she could get but also true.

“Then may I speak first?” Amelia asked. Honoria looked at her in surprise, nodding when her determined expression did not waver. There was no way to change a Havisham’s mind once it had been made.

“I feel terrible.” Amelia confessed, shoulder slumping slightly “I can’t sleep. I barely eat. These past few months I had some days when it was difficult to hold my head high and come out of the house. I couldn’t face the shareholders. I couldn’t face my work. I couldn’t face my father. I definitely couldn’t face my brother.”

She paused and looked at Honoria, eyes twinkling with the light from the lamp.

“I couldn’t face you.” she finished with a sigh.

Honoria remembered the strain on their lives for the past few months when father and daughter were no longer on speaking terms. The curse on Arthur’s name, ready to be painfully sprung to life if either of the inhabitants of Satis House dared to utter it.

“I couldn’t face you because I kept thinking all of this could have been avoided if you’d just _ told _ me.” Amelia confessed, hands clenching the fabric on her lap “Arthur had insinuated something about you making this on purpose and I thought, maybe she did.”

She spoke as if it took an unimaginable effort to part with this information. It took a considerable amount of strength to listen to it as well.

“And at the same time, I hated myself for thinking that when you’re my best friend. I didn’t want to believe it.  But I couldn’t trust you either because you  _ knew _ something was off. I kept remembering  our conversations, how they sounded odd. You tried to warn Arthur. But they were all half-hearted attempts as if you truly didn’t want to address it.”

Honoria had. She had wanted it so much it was all she wanted to shout. But then the wave came and she was left helpless, unneeded. Floating.

“Oh, Honoria. Why did you not tell me about Compeyson?”

Was this truly the moment she was going to do it? To either damn or save herself? She had no doubt of Amelia’s reaction, but she was afraid to be so fully exposed to someone else. She had been to Meriwether and been manipulated because of it. Would Amelia feel obliged to tell her father when the one time she went against his rules had spread misery amongst the inhabitants of Satis House?

“He knew about me.” she started, sounding very small and helpless. It was Amelia. She would trust her with her own life. 

“Amelia,” she whispered, feeling her throat tighten against the words “I had an abortion.”

Her best friend gasped. Honoria glanced at her expression, but no frown had come yet. She was simply surprised.

“I was sixteen. It was before we became best friends. Father had just lost everything and my home life was miserable. Father kept crying, Frances was never home. I only had my boyfriend at the time, or it felt like it. I just wanted to forget for a while and he was there, too promptly. We didn’t even think of using protection.” she smiled wryly “ The first time I had sex and I forgot the thing.”

She could still recall Frances putting a hand on her shoulder, counselling her. Telling her they could not afford a baby. That perhaps it would be better if no-one knew, not even their father. Faced with a responsibility she knew she could not take on, of course, she had heard her big sister. That she would hold it against her, that was something she had never expected.

“People told me it would be best if the baby wasn’t born. They were right. I wasn’t ready. He certainly wasn’t.” she told her remembering the many times she had almost called him and told him “I felt so much shame. I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t tell  _ him _ . I didn’t tell you. I came to live here and years passed and I did not tell you. I wanted to forget it.”

That single night where nothing had mattered. She had not regretted it, even after the abortion. Even after standing in that clinic underneath white lights and holding on to her sister’s life, thinking she cared. Even as she whispered,  _ how could you? How could you? _ Even when she decided to leave home. Because that had brought her to that bathroom, that school bathroom in which Amelia had caught her crying and held her hand. Amelia, a beacon of light to guide her slowly sinking life. All of her dreams had been put on hold, but she could face the drudge of daily life better for having her friend by her side.

“Meriwether found out.” she told Amelia, trying to make her understand just how overwhelmed she had been “I don’t know how. I thought the clinic’s records were private. I thought that I had this buried and done with.”

She felt the tentative touch of Amelia’s cold hand. Her hands were usually cold like that, but the point of contact made warmth bloom inside her like she had been sunkissed. She continued.

“I recognised him for what he was. A crook.” she hissed “I knew that he had fooled us all. I knew he was going to reveal what had happened. I did not know what your father would do if he knew if he’d kick me out or shame me.”

She paused. “You know how it turned out with your brother.”

Amelia wrapped her hand around Honoria. They remained silent for a few minutes, as Honoria willed her heart to slow down. As Honoria waited, waited. Hoped.

“I would never have allowed it.” she affirmed, touch tightening “I care about your safety. That you had to go through that procedure with no support is horrible enough. I am sorry for bringing it up in the first place. That Compeyson would have used it against you is unthinkable and he won’t know what hit him the next time I see him.”

Honoria nodded, feeling touched by the oddly protective streak that drove Amelia. “I know. But I didn’t want to add more trouble to this whole mess. Your father needs you, Amelia. I need you, your brother needs you. If you were to fight, to resist your father, I fear what would become of Satis House.”

“So that’s why you didn’t tell. To protect us.”

“To protect what we have.” Honoria completed “To maintain peace and allow for a better future.”

Amelia tilted her head. “You think my father is going to change his mind.”

“I’m sure he will.” Honoria said “He is an obstinate Havisham, I have to give him that. But he forgot something.”

Amelia nodded for her to go on.

“There’s four of us. He only has himself.”

Amelia, Honoria, Arthur and Pocket. What a team. Amelia’s smile was dazzling, however, as she leant forward and captured Honoria in an embrace. Everything was alright in the world for now and Honoria felt like she was flying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> ‘The Judgment of Solomon’ - a story from the Hebrew Bible in which King Solomon of Israel ruled between two women both claiming to be the mother of a child by tricking the parties into revealing their true feelings. It has become an archetypal example of argument to moderation and that of an impartial judge displaying wisdom in making a ruling. (source: Wikipedia)
> 
> ‘A high ancestral name’ - From the song we all know, ‘I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls’, sung by Nancy in the Dickensian finale.
> 
> ‘Mary, who had been quite the little lamb up until that point...’ - From the song ‘Mary had a little lamb’.


	3. that red leather-bound in your hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meriwether drags Arthur out of the house for a new scheme.

He came back in the morning to find Arthur lounging on the bed, feet propped on his pillow and facing the flat’s door. The place could use some cleaning, but seeing as he and Arthur shared the task now, he wasn’t too eager to start it. Arthur would definitely do the scrubbing. Currently lying on his stomach, he looked bored as he typed sluggishly.

“We’re going out,” Meriwether informed him. 

Arthur looked up, snorted, and looked back down again. Meriwether twitched, threw the keys on the counter, and himself to the bed. This would not do.

“Hey!” Arthur managed to get out before Meriwether turned him on his back, straddled his lap and grabbed the computer with one hand, using his other one to keep the body underneath pinned to the bed. The boy squirmed for a bit, captured beneath his thighs, but eventually gave up.

“I was working.” he complained.

Meriwether checked the screen. “I see. By roleplaying with a Canadian.” He looked more closely and squinted. “I’m not sure that’s entirely possible.”

“Sure it is,” the boy challenged “who says I haven’t done it?”

Meriwether peered at him over the border of the computer and raised an eyebrow. “Sure you have.”

He looked back at the screen. There was surely some kinky business involved. He also did not fail to notice that the photograph in the profile Arthur had created was a brunette around Meriwether’s age. The boy was smart. Scrolling his message log, he noticed how he did not say anything specific about his appearance or himself and the one intimate photo he had shared was clearly not his and was congruent with the main photo on his profile. Maybe he has stolen them from another profile, maybe it was part of a stock pack.  He clearly had a folder with this material somewhere in the hard drive to promptly reply and lend his messages some sort of authenticity. He also misspelt, probably to seem more approachable. Arthur had never misspelt any messages he had sent Meriwether.

“Good work.” he eventually praised.

When he next looked down at the boy, his cheeks were very flushed and his eyes somewhat shifty. Meriwether noticed the way their crotches touched. Not so indifferent after all.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve been in this position.” he said with a grin.

“Yeah,” replied Arthur with a great amount of spite “see if you don’t rip your pants.”

It was Meriwether’s time to laugh, taking in the boy’s attempt to contradict his strong flush with deprecating comments.

“I don’t know anyone who spends three hundred pounds in suit pants alone!” Arthur exclaimed, “And I used to be rich!”

“Well, you dressed like you were homeless even then.”

Arthur mock-gasped and swatted him in the leg. Meriwether grudgingly slid up the bed and allowed the boy to escape. He loved it when the boy got cocky. It made him want to knock him down a peg or two.

“Now, can I have the laptop back?”

“No” Meriwether replied, closing the lid. Arthur gasped again, more earnestly this time.

“I was about to get to the good part!”

“Of course, you were,” Meriwether smiled as Arthur looked at him as if he wanted to rip his three hundred quid pants himself. “I just arrived.”

Arthur walked over to the other side of the flat, picking the biscuit jar and removing one to munch on. Leaning against the sink like an odalisque, every bit as languorous as a muse from a painting, his drooping eyelids were far too drooping for his liking. 

“You haven't left the flat in two days.” he added, “It’s high time you came to the light.”

“With you?” Arthur asked, disbelief colouring every word “You’re hardly a conductor of light.”

Meriwether disconnected the cord, got up and arranged the computer on the kitchen counter. “Because you’re so radiant yourself.”

Arthur had no answer for that, which Meriwether thought a pity. He quite enjoyed the banter and the conversation could have gone on endlessly, were Arthur’s faculties not so hampered by the lack of external stimulus.

“We’re not going shopping again, are we?” Arthur asked, undressing his sweat pants and stepping into jeans. An only partly better alternative, but enough for what Meriwether had in mind. At least he did not protest. 

“Because I assure you,” he continued “I have quite enough outfits.”

“Yes, I know you do. _ I _ bought them. No, we’re going to the only store in London that sells what I need.” he answered. Arthur’s head shot up.

“What, a conscience?”

Meriwether would hit him but even he could not find fault in that. “Come with me and you’ll find out.”

Arthur glared. “I was going to do that anyway.”

“You are not obliged to talk back, you know?”

Arthur grinned. “I know.”

They went out shortly afterwards with Meriwether checking the directions from the e-mail he had managed to get a hold of from a Mr Nicodemus Boffin, a person he had met just the day before and taken out for a couple of drinks. He knew the man worked for a graphic design company who had handled a previous target of him and the mention of a special item that was unique in the entirety of London was curious enough that he had the wish to check it out, perhaps purchase it for an amount - if it was damnable enough - and sell it to the intended buyer for double or triple the price. It had been a curious e-mail with enough hints to the object not being completely of legal purchase for him to decide it was worth a shot if he got to the item before one of his employees did. Plus, he’d be able to get Arthur out of the house. The amount of time he spent on the computer would definitely have long-term consequences on his wits. He couldn’t depend on a sluggish companion.

They went out with no further protest from Arthur, a rather strange occurrence in itself. He supposed the boy was curious enough. Meriwether was eager himself and by the time they arrived in Islington he couldn’t wait to get this over with and find out what the precious item was.

Meriwether stopped at the start of the street, trying to ascertain whether he had gotten it right. It was a side street and it seemed a rather isolated one as well. Most people would walk by it without noticing it wasn’t an alley at all. The e-mail had detailed the location to be a hidden one, but if the building’s plan was a traditional one, there would be a front entrance. Meriwether would not be relegated to the sidelines.

He gestured towards Arthur and stepped into the main street. Sure enough, the main street revealed the actual shop entry, which wouldn’t have been misplaced in the side street at all due to its curiously bizarre window display.

Arthur stopped in his tracks and gaped. And gaped. He supposed the window _ was  _ fascinating in a way a car accident could be fascinating. The bottom half, covered in a sort of reclining platform, was filled with books to the brim. Victorian-looking odd papers and documents were strewn across the spaces with hardcovers. Quills decorated the space that remained. There were also dolls - the creepy sort - that leant on each other as if they were having a tea party, seeming on the brink of falling off the shelf they were in. Their outfits ranged decades, centuries even, and their derelict state made him wonder if they had not, in fact, lived those centuries as well. They looked fragile enough for that, porcelain stained in irregular places and fabrics covered in mould.

There were the odd jars across the other shelves, some holding strange objects like bones and toys so complicated-looking he could not even begin to comprehend how they actually worked. Other phials contained brightly-coloured fluids that would not be out of place in a science fiction movie, glowing eerily in the afternoon light. Meriwether thought them tasteless and they unnerved him a bit. The dry flowers that adorned the rest of the empty spaces were as ugly-looking, more funereal than Spring-like. The rest of the decoration was even weirder and it’d be worse if he had not already expected it, knowing from the email that the owner of the store was a taxidermist as well.

Arthur looked at the creatures with growing bewilderment as he identified the source of every limb. The central piece was particularly upsetting, glass eyes twinkling and lending spirit to the otherwise mummified complexion that resulted from the concoction of a cat’s face, penguin’s body, claws from two different animals of the same species he would have trouble pinning down, and feet that seemed to have come from a duck or something equally aquatic. There was an attempted paint job as well, he judged from the smears on the creature’s stomach. It was horrendous.

When the boy looked back at him, he looked afraid. Meriwether simply shrugged, looked at the shop’s banner to double check the identity of the owner, and entered with no further hesitation, Arthur following his steps.

The inside was predictably bigger, shelves displayed in a wide space and filling the walls. Not so predictable was the ratio of messiness and general untidiness of the place. There were books everywhere. Meriwether had never seen these many volumes before and, judging by Arthur’s face, he had not either. They were not current paperbacks either. They were dusty, yellow, mouldy, funky, stale books. The most recent tome he could spot was a Penguin, an early one whose retail value would definitely be higher than it originally had. Towers of books mingled with equally old furniture and most of them seemed heavily damaged. The smell was even worse, dust and paint creating the most unbelievable aroma for the cluttered space.

There were pieces of taxidermy that continued the upsetting image of the exterior, some completely imagined creatures, others life-like reproductions of the once living beasts. There was a lot of paintings as well, some whose colour was almost gone but still held some impression of an image. Watercolours and prints covered one heavily chipped table whose feet were on the brink of collapsing both table and contents onto the carpeted floor. Other furniture - none of it devoid of clutter - served as labyrinthine indications of a supposed direction that Meriwether doubted anyone else other than the owner himself knew of.

The whole store was a fire hazard or an avalanche waiting to happen.

Arthur noticed the bell first than he did, perhaps due to his innate ability to allow things to grow into this sort of mess. The ring that followed pierced the unnervingly silent shop and a thump was heard from another division.

“Coming, coming!” shouted a heavily accented voice. Arthur glanced at him, hands tight behind his back.

There was a noise from the closed door behind the counter and the shop’s owner came out. Then several things happened at once.

Firstly, the boy by his side gasped and clutched Meriwether’s arm, which led to Meriwether jumping and hitting a table with his hip. Then, the owner let out a shout and pointed at Arthur making Meriwether jump further away from the counter and into another table. Then there was a moment of silence in which Meriwether was for the first time in his life uncomprehending of his surroundings. And finally, the strange man clasped his hands over his mouth and muttered something.

“Sorry?” Meriwether asked.

“I know you!”

“No you don’t.” was Meriwether’s immediate, idiotic reply.

“No,  _ him _ !” the man exclaimed, gesticulating wildly towards Arthur. Meriwether glanced at him and saw him embarrassed. For a moment he thought that the man might be a customer or that perhaps he had met Arthur during his clubbing nights but then he took a deeper look at the figure before him. Dark skin, probably Iranian, he wore muted greys with a bright shirt that clashed horribly with his handkerchief. His shabby appearance would certainly not allow him any entrance in a gay club. He probably wouldn’t be the first pick of the boy amongst a crowd of strangers. The man did not seem rich either, so he couldn’t picture any benefit of accepting him as a customer.

“Oh my god,” Arthur whispered by his side. Meriwether glared at him, wishing for any clarification. When none came, he was forced to intervene.

“I take it he’s behaved badly.”

The man outright laughed in his face, which Meriwether thought no salesman should ever do in the presence of possible customers. Arthur just clutched his arm tighter.

“Oh he has indeed!” the man replied, turning around and bending over something underneath the counter. Meriwether looked at Arthur, who currently bit his lip and looked like a child who had been caught red-handed.

“Brandy.” he said, as a means of explanation. Meriwether shrugged, still at a loss. Arthur got no time to explain, however, because the shop’s owner suddenly raised himself to his full - albeit on the lacking side - height and started speaking again.

“This boy came into my stand on Christmas and thought I wouldn’t notice,” he said, grinning “ and decided to steal one of my best bottles!”

Oh. That had been it then. He had thought of far more insidious business. So that was how the boy had managed to pilfer brandy back in December. He had thought it odd, the boy being so resourceful when at the time he had not yet to partake on his most mischievous streak. He had dismissed it as his drive to please, even at that stage.

“Seriously, Arthur” he taunted, feeling the boy’s hold tighten once more “You know stealing is not the answer.”

Arthur hit him in the arm and released him. The other man laughed and offered his hand to the boy.

“Venus.” he told him.

Meriwether wanted to laugh at the name but he depended on the man’s gullibility to purchase the item safely and without too many questions.

“Arthur.” the boy returned, shaking his hand. He had recovered from the shock well, all things considered. He thought on how a month before the boy blushed to his every lewd suggestion. Improving indeed.

“Do you want another bottle, Arthur?” Venus suggested, showing the bottle of brandy he had removed from underneath the counter. The boy gave him a small smile and shook his head.

“No, but my friend might. He was very thirsty during Christmas.”

Venus looked up at Meriwether and appraised him. Damn the boy and his insolence. He decided to speak before the chance was taken from him again.

“Arthur,” he called, turning towards the boy and placing himself so he couldn’t see the salesman “Explore a bit, won’t you? I’ll buy you something pretty.”

Arthur seemed ready to talk back and tell him what  _ he _ could explore but seemed to think better of it.

“Of course.” he replied, swallowing in a way that made his lips seem ready for the taking. Meriwether needed some moments to regain his composure and not bend him over a table for the bit of good old spanking the boy desperately needed. Arthur walked over to a bigger table that held the most books out of the entire shop, unaware of Meriwether's train of thought.

Turning towards Venus, he smiled as honest and openly as he could.

“You have a package for my boss, don’t you?.” he asked him, resting his gloved hands on the surface of the counter - the only one that was not overcrowded with items.

The man seemed surprised. “Package? I have no orders placed at the moment. They’ve all been claimed.”

Damn, could they have come earlier? Meriwether thought with some annoyance. The email had been sent this very morning and it wasn’t four o’clock yet. No, it was not possible. There was no way a businessman in Vauxhall would have come home earlier or gotten the time to simply pop in a store in Islington. No, the package was here. He was certain of it.

“Mr Boffin sent me.” he told the man.

Venus visibly startled and glanced around. He had probably not expected the business to be conducted in the main area of the store.

“Do you have a message?” he asked, quieter. It was ridiculous. There was no one else in the story apart from Meriwether himself and Arthur. He sighed, however, and showed him the email on his phone, taking care to cover the top half that indicated the message was forwarded. The man read carefully on and only nodded when he had examined everything he wanted, which thankfully did not include the email’s original recipient.

“Alright. It’s inside. Come with me.”

Meriwether followed him - not without throwing a look over his shoulder to the wandering boy, who had gone from the books to the butterflies on the wall back to the books again - and entered another place through the door behind the counter. There was a small, narrow corridor with a couple of doors and a flight of stairs that led to the top storey. Choosing the final door, Venus led him to a smellier, smaller place. He supposed this was the embalming office or whatever it was called. Several saws hung from the wall as well as finished, far more imperfect works. Some had the potential to be truly terrifying in a darkly-lit room such as this one. The table in the centre of the division contained the single source of light - a lamp that wouldn’t be out of place on an operating table - and there were some small tools scattered on its surface.

“Just a minute,” Venus said, leaving his side to open and close a series of drawers and cupboards.

“Now, where is it? I was sure it was here. No, it must have gone home. Oh, wait. No, here it is.” he muttered, finally fishing out something wrapped in brown paper. He set it carefully on the table and looked expectantly at Meriwether.

Meriwether made to grasp the package but Venus covered it with his own hands.

“I’m sorry but this is very fragile.”

“I do need to pick it up at some point.” Meriwether replied with an eye roll “And to check if everything’s in its proper place.”

Venus narrowed his eyes at him. Damn, he had been too specific.

“Your boss told me you’d be aware of the order’s nature.” the man said slowly before Meriwether had a chance to explain himself.

He licked his lips and thought desperately of any believable story he might spew off. He couldn’t be new in the company or else he wouldn’t have been sent at all. A close friend trying to surprise his friend wouldn’t be possible as well, or he’d have known the order’s nature.

“Of course I am.” he told him “I simply thought you might not want to have me declaring what it was to the four winds!”

Venus drew back and looked him up and down.

“You are right!” he gasped “There might be those who can hear it. You are correct in being cautious.”

He then relaxed immediately and proceeded to smile at him. Meriwether thought the man was not the sharpest pencil in the box. 

“I hope you have brought the money. It was...hum” he struggled for words “hard to locate.”

“It was illegal, you mean,” Meriwether replied, already going for his wallet. He’d pay whatever it took to satisfy his curiosity. He just hoped it wasn’t drugs and simply a weird sex toy. Drugs would be hard to resell and dangerous to possess.

“I don’t conduct illegal business here, but if I did I would have told the man who engaged in them to know that the transaction would be paid in cash.”

“How much, then, for this non-illegal business?”

“Four hundred pounds.” Venus replied promptly.

Well, that would be inexpensive if what Meriwether had in mind corresponded to the truth. He had bought jackets for much more than that. Whatever the case, he had the money and was way too far into the scam to back out. He took out the bills and gave them to the smiling man, who deposited the package on Meriwether’s hands after rolling the money and sticking it in his breast pocket.

“Nice doing business with you.” he said, shaking his free hand. Meriwether shook him loose and turned to leave and maybe go to an alley and find out the nature of the item when the other man’s touch held him.

“Now, about the matter of the boy...”

Meriwether blinked at him. “What matter of the boy? There is no matter with the boy.”

Venus gave him a short, dry laugh. “You threatened that boy so you could have the brandy?”

“I don’t even know how you reached that conclusion.” Meriwether replied cooly. He did not need any judgments on what he did or did not with Arthur. Especially not from a stranger he had just scammed. He thought there should be an item in the scam victim’s etiquette book in which they would not be allowed to question his personal choices. He hated nagging questions and the people who asked them too often.

“He looked scared.” Venus said, “I don’t think he wanted to steal it.”

“And yet you gave it to him.” Meriwether answered him “Isn’t that bad for business?”

“He was scared.” he repeated, shrugging at the same time “Scared boys do lots of things. If I let him take it, he wouldn’t do anything worse.”

There was a long moment before Meriwether spoke again.

“I didn’t force him to steal it.” he told him whilst putting his best sorrowful face “He is a recovering alcoholic. The fear you saw was towards himself, not me.”

Venus let go of him with a comical gasp. People sometimes were deliciously easy to fool.

“Oh, I am so sorry. Is he better now?”

Meriwether paused and pretended to mull that over for a few moments.

“He’s on his way. I’m trying to set him on the right path. It won’t be long now.”

Not long until he and Arthur were able to form a double act, until he could make use of the boy’s natural looks to earn the sympathy of older men. Not long until Arthur would be ready to be put to the test. Not long until he could have an extra pair of hands and someone by his side. He was looking forward to it more than he cared to admit. Arthur would thank him in the end, when he had successfully had a sense of style drilled into his head and they both got a bigger flat. When they both stood triumphantly over their victims and a bit richer for it. It was going to be glorious.

“You love him.” Venus said, out of the blue.

Meriwether was ready to protest the notion when the man interrupted him again. It seemed to be a habit of his.

“Don’t worry. I bet he loves you too.” he reassured him, patting his arm and seeming so earnest Meriwether kind of wanted to throw the package to his face, delicate constitution be damned. He simply smiled because he might yet have the need for the man’s services and ignored the remark. Venus did not seem offended and probably mistook it as bashfulness, which was fine to Meriwether. He just wanted to get out of the place.

When they left the hidden room to the area of the shop, there was already someone in there with Arthur, a middle-aged woman looking through the dry flowers and inspecting the more decoratives elements on sale.

“We’re going.” he told the boy, not looking back at Venus, who had greeted the fat woman with a name that sounded like  _ rumble _ or  _ bumble _ .

“But you still haven’t bought me a gift!” Arthur protested.

“What are you, a child?” Meriwether promptly bit back, getting a reproachful look from the woman horrendously dressed in pink. Arthur just pouted. He was trying Meriwether’s nerves.

“Fine.” he said with a sigh “Find something. You have five minutes.”

“I already chose it!” Arthur exclaimed, raising his hand to reveal a red leather book that seemed in pretty precarious conditions. He knew the boy had no taste in clothes, but he had some knowledge of books. Did he not know they were supposed to actually be bound and not have loose pages?

“Chose another. That thing is going to get bugs all over the flat.”

But then Arthur pouted and something could be said of Meriwether’s tired state that he did not even protest and let the boy give it to Venus for pricing. Meriwether thought he was being very kind and he did not know why people attacked him with offensive suggestions of love and care.

“Nice choice.” Venus commented, turning the book over in his hands “First edition. Really expensive here, but I’ll give you a discount because it’s a Wednesday.”

Meriwether could not see a sign advertising any special discount. He gave up when his intense gaze was interrupted by the fat lady ogling him from across the room. As soon as he paid the amount - not too expensive for a book from a supposedly first edition - he exited the store, package safely tucked away underneath his arm. Arthur followed closely behind with a grin on his face and hands wrapped around the book. Just before they turned the corner, he slid something into his pocket. A card. The man had given him a card.

“What did you choose?” he asked him when they had entered the tube.

“Gone with the Wind.” Arthur replied, running his finger along the book’s ruined spine.

“Isn’t that a bit...American for you?”

“It’s not for me.” Arthur explained, “It’s for Amelia.”

“I thought your sister didn’t like to read novels.” he commented, recalling a conversation very similar to this one, equally on the tube. Arthur must have remembered the same thing because he fell quiet for a few seconds before replying.

“Well, at least it will look pretty on her shelf. You did tell me to chose something pretty.”

Meriwether threw him a look, trying to grab the metal pole in a way that did not make him drop the package “That thing is falling apart.”

“So is Satis House.” he told him, getting near the pole with the oscillation of the carriage “But like the book, it can be restored.”

“And you suppose you’re going to be the one restoring it.”

“I can try.”

Meriwether gave him a dry look but said nothing further. When they got off in Whitechapel, the matter had been already dropped. Arthur kept looking at the package Meriwether held in his hands and back at Meriwether and Meriwether tried not to look at the package himself. As soon as they arrived at the flat, he set the thing on the counter and they stared at it, withholding the reveal for a few minutes before Meriwether gave up and untied the string. The paper came loose with some difficulty but nonetheless it revealed the green mass beneath. Meriwether froze.

“What the fuck is this?”

Arthur peeked over the patch of paper that covered his view. Then he laughed. And laughed. By the time he had stopped laughing Meriwether was half tempted to slap him into seriousness. Nevertheless, he peeked again and spoke as calmly as he could.

“That,” Arthur told him “is a cactus.”

“I know what the fuck this is.” Meriwether hissed, setting his elbows on the counter “But I don’t know how this can cost so much money!”

“Maybe it’s a rare species that cannot be imported into England.” he reasoned “Maybe it’s nearly extinct.”

Meriwether sighed and grabbed his head. The thing was small and even smelled foul. The only upside was that it came with its own pot.

“But four hundred pounds?”

Arthur whistled by his side, perfectly expressing his sentiments. There was no way someone would pay eight hundred pounds for a fucking plant. He felt Arthur move to the sofa, carrying the cactus safely in his hands, and heard the tell-tale sound of the computer being turned on. A few minutes passed with Arthur typing away and Meriwether despaired over the very obvious fuck-up he had just committed. He couldn’t stay put, could he? He had read 'expensive item' and immediately thought of the profit without considering if the theft would eventually be worth it.

“ _Coleocephalocereus._ ” Arthur suddenly proclaimed. Meriwether looked at him, worried for an infectious disease he might have found. Arthur simply looked from where he was on the sofa, pouring over the computer like it held some form of oxygen.

“It makes sense.”

“No it doesn’t.” was Meriwether’s immediate response.

“Because it’s a plant and it has a cephalus.”

Oh, he was talking about the cactus. “You’ve found the species name, them.”

Arthur nodded. “I think it’s a _Coleocephalocereus uebelmanniorum_ , or however that is pronounced. It’s really rare. Apparently, there’s only like five thousand in the world. No wonder it was expensive.”

Some of the outrage he had felt at having such an expense with ridiculous flora was assuaged and he felt appeased enough to stand upright again.

“It’s basically extinct.” the boy continued, hand hovering over the little potted cactus on the floor “It’ll bloom soon.”

“These things have flowers?” Meriwether inquired with some surprise. He wouldn’t associate the desert with flowers. He’d also never imagine he would spend hundreds of pounds in a single flora specimen, but it seemed life liked throwing surprises at him.

“Yeah, it seems this one is about to have them. Google says in over a month because the cephalium is still small.”

“Did Google also turn you into a botanist?” Meriwether sneered, plopping down on the bed. Four hundred pounds. Was Arthur infecting him with stupidity?

“No. But I was partial to flowers when I was younger. I had two encyclopaedias about the world flora.” Arthur replied, very serious “And insects. God, there was a phase I talked about nothing but butterflies.”

Meriwether could picture him perfectly in that dreamy Kent estate of his, wearing a navy suit or soft sweaters or whatever rich people dressed their children in nowadays. A young Arthur with even curlier hair, picking up a butterfly net and attempting to gather a thousand different species. Running across the green grounds and calling his sister to his aid whenever he fell.

“You can keep it if you want.” he said after a few minutes of letting the boy dive further and further into the online encyclopaedia. Arthur startled at the sound of his voice and looked at Meriwether, blinking his surprise away.

“What do you mean?”

“The cactus. You can keep it.”

Arthur frowned. “But you’ll lose the money.”

“I’m not feeling like negotiating a _ plant _ with a man I might possibly scam in the future for greater profit.”

Arthur hesitated before nodding and returning his attention to the laptop. The ungrateful little prick.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Why?” he asked, not looking up “You’re making it sound as if _ I _ am doing  _ you _ a favour.”

Meriwether felt his hands twitch. He got up and grabbed the cactus, feeling a blissful satisfaction when it next shattered against the bathroom’s door. Arthur jumped from his seat, eyes wide and hands clutching the computer as if it could have protected him somehow.

“I’m going out.” he declared. The  plant was a goner, but he might have something else to work on. He wouldn’t stay at home and watch Arthur’s idleness. The boy had gotten out, he’d given him a gift and gotten only disdain in return. He was done for the day.

Arthur swallowed, seeming unsure in his footing but staying put. He was trembling and for one brief moment, Meriwether regretted the suddenness and brutality he had used. Then the moment was gone and he grabbed the keys and slammed the door behind him on the way out.

When he returned at two in the morning with a great deal of alcohol in his system and an increased contact list, the boy was asleep and the cactus repotted in a coffee mug.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Penguin - British publishing house founded in 1935. Penguin revolutionised publishing in the 1930s through its inexpensive paperbacks, sold through Woolworths and other high street stores for sixpence. (sources: Wikipedia, http://www.penguin.com/)
> 
> Coleocephalocereus - coleus (ˈkəʊlɪəs) - from New Latin, from Greek koleos, variant of koleon sheath; from the way in which the stamens are joined]; kephale - cephalus, Cephalium (frequently brightly coloured, structure of wool and bristle at the growing tip of certain cacti. Will only begin growing after a cactus has reached a certain size or age. Once flowering begins the flower buds will form from the cephalium.
> 
> (Sources: dictionary.org and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coleocephalocereus; http://www.iucnredlist.org/details/184312/0)
> 
> Nicodemus (Noddy) Boffin - character from “Our Mutual Friend”, the story Mr Venus appears in,


	4. your cheeks flushed red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a strange request. Meriwether despairs at the thought of having their flat invaded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking two weeks for this update! At the 7K mark, this chapter turned out bigger than I had intended it to.

It started innocuously enough, around the middle of the month. The weather had gone from annoyingly cold to simply mild and the constant rain had forced Meriwether to buy better shoes. The necessity of the purchase helped nothing to ease the unwilling shopping, not because the shoes were ugly or bad but because it had made his wallet far lighter than he would have like it to be. Their money was not endless and despite Arthur’s attempts to earn his living, it was not much. If he had been actually paying rent on his own, he’d been out on the streets weeks ago. The boy was still fearful of asking too much and letting his plans go to waste. They inevitably ate from the cheapest take-out every day and Meriwether was tired of chinese.

The first time happened during a rainy morning. Meriwether hated the rain and had decided it would mean trouble and a great deal of unpleasantness than he would willingly submit to. He had then set to straighten out his wardrobe in his preferred way, meticulously searching for any frayed edges or stray lines. The frantic pace at which he had been changing targets had made him change his outfit at least three times a day, and that had meant too much wear for the clothes. There would be need for a trip to the laundry that very day, and he couldn’t wait to sent Arthur on his way there.

The boy had just finished using the computer and currently sat by the counter, clearly waiting for Meriwether to give him money to buy lunch. He had been staring at him for quite some time, but Meriwether did not mind as long as he didn’t make any stupid suggestions regarding clothes’ maintenance. Coming from the boy, they were basically worthless and bound to have the opposite effect. He had been working from home in several dating websites for the past week after their disastrous adventure into the curiosities shop. Arthur was surprisingly good at it, unhindered by the lack of personal contact that Meriwether needed to make his plans thrive, and he had successfully extracted money from at least four different individuals. The ones that hadn’t gotten anywhere, either from the targets backing out at the last moment or minor slip-ups with the transaction, had been a great source of entertainment to Meriwether over breakfast and dinner. They would Meriwether told Arthur what he had said to a certain lady to make her flush and Arthur recounted the lame profile descriptions he had seen. It led to a great deal of fun and Meriwether enjoyed these moments with just the two of them exchanging villainous stories. Arthur always mucked his up by laughing before he got to the punchline and Meriwether mocked him for it when he didn’t actually care.

It was fun in small portions. Staying in the flat with the boy for too long could lead to a great resistance to action, however. He already felt like throwing himself to the bed, clothes be damned, and sleep the day away.

“It’s Amelia twenty-third birthday next week,” Arthur mentioned after a lull in the conversation. He had been saying something about an _otaku_ and despite the fact that Meriwether was not ignorant enough to be ignorant of what that was, he thought it too boring to ask any details about.

“Huh?” he mumbled, picking a piece of lint off a sleeve.

“I said, my sister’s birthday is next week.”

Meriwether lifted his head, took in the boy’s shifting eyes, and looked back at the clothes again.

“I would say to give her my best, but she probably would not appreciate it.”

There was a sound from his side of the flat, probably Arthur rearranging the mug with the cactus. Apart from his fit of rage the week before, the thing had so far survived unscathed so Meriwether couldn’t even get to tease him about killing a cactus. He guessed he would have to wait and see. When he finished with the ties, he turned to the boy, gave him a pile of folded shirts and told him to buy lunch and deal with the smelly things. Arthur did that without complaining, which set off the alarm in Meriwether’s head.

What was the boy up to?

With no obvious answer to hold onto, he simply ignored him and enjoyed his dismay as he told him it was his turn to do the laundry.

 

* * *

 

The second time happened whilst Meriwether showered, surprisingly enough. Arthur was much more forward about it, opening the door without knocking, looking straight at Meriwether - they did not have a curtain - and demanding his attention with a posture so Havisham he was reminded of his conversation with the boy’s father.

“You certainly got it.” he said nonchalantly, using the conditioner on his hair. Damn, he had split ends. He really needed to go to the barber one of these days. Looking at the boy, he thought again that he had too. April was just around the corner and it must have been months since that hair had seen a scissor. He looked shabby and it would not do at all.

“I want a birthday party.” he continued, clearly trying not to look at Meriwether’s bottom half.

“Your birthday is in June, Arthur.” Meriwether replied, waiting for the conditioner to settle and dragging a handful of soap suds across his chest, effectively diverting Arthur’s attention “I will buy you a cake when it happens, don’t worry.”

Arthur seemed to snap out of his daze. “I meant for my sister!”

Oh, he had said something about that the day before, hadn’t he?

“I’m not going to pay for a rich woman’s birthday, Arthur.”

“You know,” he started, sounding so smug that Meriwether saw red for an instant “she could have you arrested or something, and it’s only the flat and a couple of edibles.”

Or _something_.

“Then you don’t need the flat at all.” Meriwether hissed “Take her to the theatre, to the movies, to a restaurant. Use your imagination. Don’t bring her here.”

Bringing Amelia to the flat would implicate both Pocket and Honoria’s presence. Meriwether needed his face intact and preferably not bruised. He wouldn’t be able to work if he wasn’t in proper shape. Perhaps even Amelia would not feel as mild-tempered as the last time.

“But it’ll be more intimate, this way.”

Meriwether gave him a look. Two teenagers and two young adults, in his flat? He’d be mad by the time they left the party! “My flat is not to be invaded by others.”

Something shifted in Arthur’s eyes. “But _I_ invaded it.”

Meriwether turned around with a huff to reach the tap, probably supplying Arthur with a splendid view of his backside.

“That’s different.”

They were not infuriating teenage boys who invariably made bad decisions, like becoming partners to a criminal.

“ _How_ am I different?” Arthur asked, making Meriwether want to throw the conditioner at him. Maybe Arthur would take a hint and leave him to wash up alone.

“I said no. Close the damned door.”

Arthur obeyed, but not without grumbling something about Meriwether spending too much time in the shower. Meriwether did not reply that Arthur did not spend enough, but he wanted to.

 

* * *

 

The third round of begging came a day afterwards, when he was naked again and waiting for the body butter to do its work and allow him to slide into his clothes with no accidents. Arthur entered just as he was pondering on whether he should use the corduroi or the charcoal pants. They both held benefits, but he had a suspicion the woman he was seducing did not appreciate colour. Even her face was grim and washed up. Money and beauty. Some people could not get both.

“Hi.” the boy greeted, hauling something up from where he had placed it on the floor and setting it on the unused stove.

“What are you doing?” Meriwether asked begrudgingly when the boy did not say anything else for a few minutes and examined the contents of his bag without revealing them to Meriwether.

“I’m cooking.”

Meriwether could admit to his surprise with no fault to his abilities of acting nonchalant because that sentence was one he would never have imagined to come from Arthur.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m _cooking_.” the boy replied, now taking out items from the bag. There was a pot, a plastic packet of something, a tin and one onion. Another smaller bag contained something that Meriwether had a suspicion to be minced meat but it had been a while since he had seen one of those so he couldn’t be certain.

Meriwether got up to inspect the scene, now in his boxers. It was such a recurrent state of his that he barely took notice of it. Arthur did notice it, however, and slid away from Meriwether’s approaching body. Meriwether got the message and sat by the kitchen island and makeshift table, starving with curiosity.

“There are so many questions I have right now.” Meriwether admitted “I don’t even know where to start.”

“You can start by telling me if we have olive oil.”

Meriwether blinked. “Yes, actually. I don’t know if it’s off, though. Search in the cupboard to your left.”

Arthur did just that, rummaging without really looking at the what he was touching, but becoming satisfied when he eventually produced a half empty bottle. Meriwether used to apply it to drier strands, back when he couldn’t afford proper items. Sometimes he still could not, but one that do sacrifices. He watched as Arthur checked the label as one would check the side effects of a new pill and must have deemed it good enough because the next thing he did was pour a generous portion of it in the pot. Meriwether grew more bewildered. Wasn’t olive oil made for seasoning, and not cooking?

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked when Arthur spent a full minute staring into the pot.

Arthur shushed him. “I’m trying to remember.”

Meriwether did just that because he was growing more curious by the second. He had planned to go out in the afternoon, but his only meeting of the day was at eight with a woman he very much intended to fuck on their first mutually arranged date. The first two had been ‘coincidences’ he felt were enough build-up for a monumental fall.

Arthur re-started his cooking, probably having remembered the recipe or enough of it that there would not be any hiccups. The stove, however, only grudgingly cooperated, making a whining noise for a few seconds before any gas had been turned on. Meriwether was confused for a moment before remembering that he had once participated in a vote about installing natural gas for the entire building at the cost of a higher rent. He had been overwhelmingly voted out so grudgingly he had proceeded to pay more for something he would never use. Apparently he had been wrong.

“Lighter, please.” Arthur requested, so concentrated on his proceedings he did not even look at Meriwether.

Meriwether obeyed, thinking about the possibility of finding a new thing to mock Arthur about. Moments later, the fire was on in two different burners and working on two pots. He did not know where the second pot had come from, but it seemed similar enough that perhaps it had been hidden in a cupboard since the previous owner.

“And now what are you doing?” Meriwether found himself asking.

“Now I’m cooking the meat.”

“What is the second pot for, then?” he prodded.

“For the pasta.” Arthur answered, picking up the packet with one hand.

Meriwether frowned. “Don’t they have different cooking times?”

Arthur seemed pensive for a few moments before his eyes widened comically and he hurried to turn the heat for the bigger pot off. Meriwether felt justified in his own smugness as the boy said nothing else and dumped the meat in the now sizzling smaller pot. The boy was a walking menace.

“Where did you get that meat from?” Meriwether asked, stepping sideways to allow Arthur a look at a plastic jar that contained what he supposed were spices.

“A friend.” Arthur replied, still concentrating on the spices. He looked serious as he held a small amount between his fingers, sprinkling some of it on the pot. There was an instant waft of pleasantness that made Meriwether’s nostrils flare.

“Do you mean Nancy?” he asked. There was no way Honoria or Amelia would know how to cook. He doubted Pocket did either. As far as he could tell, Arthur’s phonebook did not extend that far.

A thought struck him.

“Wait, did she give you the phone too?”

Arthur was silent for a few moments, making four precise clock-wise stirs in the pot. Maybe Nancy had been the one to teach him the recipe as well.

“They had lots of them just lying around.”

“You mean, phones they had stolen.” Meriwether corrected, leaning against one arm and appraising the boy.

“As if you have a moral code to judge me by, master con.”

“Oh, so I am your master now?”

Arthur cursed under his breath. Meriwether allowed himself to preen for a few moments before realizing that the boy clutched to his own finger. Meriwether sighed. Clumsy fool, looking for injuries in a harmless task.

“Put it under tap water.” he advised. Arthur did so but refused to rise to the jab from earlier.

Minutes passed with a series of timed stirs which Meriwether thought too strictly applied. It was cooking, not science, for all Meriwether was ignorant of it. Arthur, however, did not seem to share that opinion and watched the sizzlingly pot with unusual intensity. By the time he turned the other pot on, the mixture in the other one smelled like heaven. When Arthur jumped and removed a smaller jar from the bag to sprinkle some salt over the meat and the not yet boiling water, the aroma seemed to intensify. The pasta followed and it wasn’t long before the whole thing was done, Arthur asking Meriwether’s help to drain the water from the pasta pot and ordering him absentmindedly to set the table. Meriwether’s curiosity seemed to override his sense of self yet again for he did just that. Smelling the stuff had also made him incredibly hungry.

By the time they had set down to eat, he was positively ravenous. When Arthur distributed the food between the two, he dug in with gusto.

There was a brief period of silence in which Meriwether tried to find any fault in the dish and Arthur ate delicately. Meriwether had forgotten that about him. He was as proper with the slippery pasta as he had been with pastries in Convent Garden, and it struck him as somewhat endearing that the boy had been in the streets and as far away from his etiquette-filled life for months and yet _manners_ , of all things, remained.

He found himself humming with pleasure. Arthur tried not to look but his lips quirked up as he dipped his head in pretense of looking at a lump of meat. It was the best thing Meriwether had had in months.

The meal proceeded as normally as home-made food ever did in their house, which is to say that it was run across with a strange sense of novelty that did not leave Meriwether, even whilst he did the dishes with Arthur by the end. They did not know how to wash the two pots, but managed somehow without further injury. There was an amusing incident with foam and a close-call with Arthur nearly dropping a glass but by the time they had finished Meriwether was stunned to admit the whole thing had been _pleasant_. He shuddered to think of it, but doing chores together actually cut their duration time by half.

He still had time before the date so - now dressed up and feeling a bit pensive - he lit the cigarette out of the need of having something to do with his mouth that would not involve talking with Arthur. It had the opposite effect, of course, because the next thing he knew the boy joined him by the window and looked at something in his chin. Meriwether grudgingly passed him the cigarette and the boy inhaled greedily. He only ever smoked if Meriwether did. Meriwether smoked little over a cigarette per day, and ended up sharing more often than not. He wondered if it was the cigarette at all, and not a way to feel each other’s lips.

“What was this about?” he asked after a few seconds of silence. The street below was nearly empty. There was a long line in the Bangladeshi take-away at the corner, most customers squinting at the persistent rain.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Yes you are.” Meriwether countered, retrieving his cigarette and touching Arthur’s nose in the process. It twitched, like a fawn’s.

“You’ve spent the past few days asking for a party. And now you’ve proven that you can cook. What is that supposed to mean?”

Arthur sighed. “I thought of cooking for the party. So it’s supposed to mean that we can save up on cash by cooking the meals ourselves”

“Well, I’m not cooking.” Meriwether muttered, passing him the cigarette again. The boy remained sullen by his side, puffing as if the cigarette had been a poor thing to put in his mouth and not the expensive blend Meriwether bought with diligence.

“Why does this party mean so much for you?” he asked when the silence had dragged on for too long.

Arthur gave him a _look_ , as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if anything about the Havishams was obvious.

“It’s my sister’s birthday,” he answered as if that explained it all. After a few moments of consideration, it actually did.

“Trying to get on her good side again? Hoping you’ll scrap a few pounds off her inheritance?” Meriwether said, as a joke. It fell flat.

Arthur’s morose look made him regret it a little bit. A sad Arthur was no fun.

“She liked it when we - my cousin and us two - got together.” Arthur told him, cigarette forgotten on the corner of his lips “Before this became so complicated.”

“Do you mean the coming out, the disinheritance, living with the man that coned you or the fact that you’ve become a con man yourself?”

Arthur made an all-encompassing gesture. Meriwether smirked.

“Arthur, does she know what you’re doing for a living now?”

The boy froze and Meriwether seized the chance to steal the cigarette again. It was nearly burnt out.

“So you want to bring your sister to our thieves’ den with food made from recipes a prostitute taught you without her knowing that you’re one of us.”

Arthur - the git - actually nodded. Meriwether stared.

“Alright.” he eventually said, “It’ll be fun.”

Arthur’s mouth broke into a grin. Meriwether found himself inadvertently smiling as well, not sure why. He was about to host a party of people who hated him. He should at least get a compensation.

“On one condition.”

Arthur’s smile did not even waver, so sure was he in the acceptance of his plan. “Spit it out, then.”

“You need to have a haircut.” he demanded, actually meaning _I need you to have a haircut because I can no longer think of your bone structure’s wasted potential because you refuse to see a pair of scissors._

“I’ll shave my eyebrows!” the boy blurted out. Meriwether tried to picture it and fought off a smile. He must show himself as intransigent or the boy would think this was a _favour_.

“One more thing.”

“What?”

“You have foam in your ear.”

He watched as the boy fluttered helplessly and put out the cigarette on the window sill. The queue on the corner had nearly dissipated. As he closed the window due to the stronger gusts of wind, he wondered just how much he would regret his decision.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, he regretted his decision very much.

Amelia had her birthday on a Tuesday, which wasn’t the best day to have parties on, but Arthur was adamant that it had to be on the very day. He spent the whole weekend doing phone calls and meeting the other three involved. Meriwether had decided that giving them a wide berth and finding something to do on a Tuesday night would be more trouble than it was worth, so he included himself in the hosting committee alongside Arthur. The boy was ecstatic. There was no other word for it. He seemed like a man with a mission, making several other dishes in the space between his requesting antics and the party itself. He supposed several of his outside deals also involved Nancy and her ever-generous recipe list. Some were successes, others had been just fine, a couple had turned out horrible. Arthur had burnt himself in every single one of them, reaching a point of making Meriwether nervous every time he picked up a pot. In those times he tried his hardest not to be obvious whilst he observed the boy’s cooking, sitting by the table and pretending to read a newspaper or look through his phone.

Arthur had tried every variation of minced meat in existence, or certainly more variations than Meriwether had been aware of. The boy was trying very hard and there was a new-found determination that seemed to have taken over both culinary adventures. Even his less legal proceedings had benefitted from his concentration. He managed to snag little under a thousand pounds in one week and Meriwether reached the conclusion he might be ready to live on his own now that he had learned to earn money and feed himself. Meriwether had never managed to get the hang of the latter.

The point was, he had never been so well-fed in his life and it was due to a blonde teenager with a father complex Meriwether had managed to con. He did not even press the boy to cut his hair before the happy date, and felt reassured in his promoside of a next week. Life had those kind of twists.

By the time Tuesday night came, Arthur’s determination had become nervous energy. He could not stay still at all and it was very distracting because Meriwether’s own system had picked that up without him having any say in it. By cooking time there had already been four different arguments between them. First, the wi-fi had not been working. Then Meriwether had leaned too close to watch what Arthur was writing in the laptop. Then it had been mid-afternoon and Meriwether had snapped about the location of his socks which, he found out afterwards, he had himself displaced earlier but he could not tell Arthur that, could he? The final blow, however, had been Arthur’s annoying bathing habits that turned the bathroom into a small lake that Meriwether had to trudge across barefoot.

They ended up not speaking for a bit over an hour before Arthur picked up the pot and Meriwether peered curiously into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he grudgingly asked. He hoped it was pasta.

“It’s a new one.”

Meriwether frowned. He did not like experiments.

“Can’t you just do the bolognese?”

Arthur looked at him as if he was daft. “Bolognese? For my sister?”

Ah, yes. The food was for the sister. All that practice had been for the sister. He would probably stop cooking afterwards. Meriwether begrudged that a bit. How could he return to eating take-away? And they had been saving up so much as well!

“Tomorrow, then?”

Arthur looked at him curiously. It reminded him of the way he knew he sometimes looked at Arthur himself.

“You want me to cook?”

“I’m afraid it’s easier than going out in this weather to grab something to eat,” Meriwether said, a clear deflection that surely would not go unnoticed .

There were a few moments of stunned silence before the olive oil - replenished with a new fancy bottle that had been expensive but that Arthur assured him would make all the difference - started to sizzle. Arthur cursed and returned his attention to the food and Meriwether sighed in relief.

The guests came soon afterwards. Pocket first, with a bottle of good wine and a big pack of beer, proclaiming that ‘the party better be worth it because it was a bother to get permission to leave school during the week’. When Meriwether asked him how he managed to do such a thing, he said that he had told them that he had a special gala at the Kent house and that he’d had the next day off as well. Meriwether wondered how many houses rich people possessed and how many they actually needed. After a brief hug, Arthur’s cousin sat down by the couch and despaired at the fact that they did not have any television, which was ‘obviously the one reason I’m here for’. For some reason, that made Arthur laugh a lot.

Honoria came together with Amelia, of course, and they arrived around the time Arthur was ready to plate up, thus being very busy and pointedly ignoring the door. Sighing at being reduced to a helper’s role, Meriwether opened the door with some trepidation. The two women gave him a perfunctory greeting, waited for him to step away from the door, brightening visibly when Arthur announced they were ‘just in time’. They gave him dirty looks even as they sat down by Arthur’s side.

The flat was not big enough to hold a proper party, or a proper dinner. The table could only hold two people and the couch three at most. That, however, did not seem to deter any of the partying folk because when he next turned after helping Arthur with plastic utensils he had bought, the three guests had moved to the floor. The heiress to the Havisham fortune was sitting on his floor and the party arrangement was bizarre enough that he avoided to actively think about it for as long as he could. What had his life become?

Arthur had made party edibles. Finger food with rolls he had seen him take out of a brown paper bag he had brought earlier with no restaurant logo that could make him believe they had been bought. He had clearly made them under Nancy’s guidance, back at the warehouse. Nancy’s repertoire made Meriwether confused. He could hardly picture a bunch of urchins eating this stuff. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers and he found them delicious. They were made of the same cheap, non-descript meat as the bolognese but whatever secrets Nancy had whispered to Arthur as she had taught him, they worked wonders.

Arthur’s kin clearly thought the same and were truly surprised when the boy told them it had been his doing. Honoria said nothing - she had barely spoken - and Amelia looked at Arthur with nothing short of awe. It seemed there was something his sister could not do, for all the praises he sung about her.

“Are you trying to pick up on the family business?” Amelia asked, which left Meriwether confused for a few seconds before remembering the boy’s mother had been a cook. He had completely forgotten about her, overshadowed by Astor Havisham’s influence over his son’s current predicament.

Arthur looked stunned for a few moments before giving her a small smile. “Nothing like that. It’s just cheaper this way.”

“Mother would be proud.” Amelia replied smoothly, touching her brother’s hand briefly. Arthur flushed and looked away. Meriwether did not fail to notice the sister also included herself as the cook’s blood. He guessed family could yet be chosen, even in rich circles. He tried to remember if he had been told about her true mother’s fate, but came up black. Another Havisham secret, one that he would yet find out.

“Arthur,” Pocket told him seriously but somehow breaking the temporarily sad mood “you are to leave this place in an instant and do all the school’s lunches from now on.”

Arthur preened as though he had been given a Michelin star.

“Better not.” he told his cousin “You’d become fatter.”

Pocket gasped. “Are you telling me I am fat?”

Arthur did not reply, and continued eating with pleasure. Meriwether thought he’d fatten himself  up if he continued indulging in Arthur’s treats. They were very carb-heavy and clearly meant to give energy. Meriwether took great care in not gulping them down, something extremely difficult to do when the wine Pocket had brought proved to be of such fine quality. Meriwether was half-tempted to trick him into bringing more as Honoria finished first, followed by a bewildered Pocket who had spent too much time praising his cousin to realize that part of his food had been stolen by a knavish Amelia. Meriwether would never have thought her capable of such unbecoming behaviour. Arthur remained unaware and proceeded to gather all the used utensils, declaring dessert time.

Unaware that there would be a dessert at all, Meriwether perked up with some interest and let Arthur remove his plate as well. Seeing as the fridge was currently turned off to save up power, it wouldn’t be possible to serve a simple ice cream or a cold dessert that apparently were Amelia’s favourites. Arthur’s way of going around that - he found now that he removed a container from the infamously large shopping bag - was to make a tart. A peach tart to be more accurate, that made Meriwether’s mouth water and Pocket hurry to help out his clearly incapable cousin.

“Don’t tell me you’ve done _that_ as well!” Pocket exclaimed, echoing the innermost thoughts of just about everyone in the room.

“I just helped with the topping,” Arthur confessed, carefully leaving out who had done the rest of the work. Meriwether thanked Nancy in his head.

“The best part!” Pocket shouted, starting to much on a slice already. Arthur left a slice on the table and re-joined his family.

“Cousin of mine, you are the most wonderful cook in all of London.”

Well, wasn’t he a cheery one, he thought as he bit the corner of his slice. Whatever the true maker of the pie, it was wonderful. Better than any of the sugary items he had with his dates across London, at any rate.

There was another round of praising before they were all done and Arthur dealt with the dishes again. When he returned to their circle, Meriwether thought of his newspaper and entertained himself. He read the idiotic columns, the latest news - always looking for a familiar name, a victim, a disaster brought upon the rich - the entertainment bits because he did like the drama, much as he told Arthur otherwise, and found himself in the last pages in no time. Daring a look at the gathered company, he saw Honoria drawing her gaze away from him to her lap. Silence reigned.

He was like the vulture at the feast. A shadow in his own home. They noticed his focus and restarted chattering mindlessly about school and work - never once mentioning the Havisham senior by name - as Meriwether occupied the table, eating what was left of the delicious food. The mood was tense. He knew their gaze would be drawn to him when he had decided to remain for the party, but he had not expected the frequency of their stares - once or twice per minute - and their desire to pierce through him by sheer power of will.

The awkwardness was smoothed over once Pocket made the suggestion to play card games. They paired up quickly in the most conventional manner - boys against girls - and played for a long while. Honoria played very well, bluffing like a pro and making Meriwether vaguely proud. Pocket was a disaster and he knew the other two were going easy on him, something Meriwether thought unnecessary due to Pocket’s perpetual good mood. Amelia was timid at best and did not score often, mostly seeming unperturbed by the proceedings. Arthur was surprisingly good, winning five of the ten plays, but relied on sheer luck alone, still having some room to grow on his gaming posture. His competitive streak was surprising, and even Honoria seemed taken aback. Meriwether wondered if he had been like that before.

Arthur eventually got bored, stretching with a yawn, and Meriwether felt all four pairs of eyes on him as he tried to concentrate on the same newspaper article he had been staring at for the past half hour.

“Do you want to play, Meriwether?” Pocket asked, tentative.

Meriwether lifted his head ever slowly, trying for a nonchalant appearance.

“Fine,” he replied, sounding very put-upon. Setting the newspaper down, he got up and sat cross-legged on the floor between Arthur and Pocket. He could not trust the girls.

“So, how about bridge?” he proposed, trying not to grin.

Forty minutes and several profitable gambles later, Pocket owed him fifty pounds and ten bottles of the fine wine he had brought to the party.

“That,” Pocket muttered with awe “is not possible.”

Meriwether did not hold his grin as Amelia passed him two tenners.

“I assure you,” he told him with glee “it is.”

Arthur made a noise by his side and his leg pressed against Meriwether’s. “He is a con man. Did you really think the game would have another result?”

“I had _hoped._ ” Pocket whined.

Arthur shook his head fondly at his cousin and then seemed to remember something, getting up and padding over to the counter where the famous bag waited with what Meriwether hoped to be the cake. As it turned out, it was. A small but lovely carrot cake with chocolate sprinkles that he did believe to be Arthur’s work because it had partly exploded in a bubble of orange-y mass but looked even the more delicious for it.

Amelia seemed to swoon, Honoria was impressed. Pocket seemed to have forgotten about his slights as if the world’s issues could be solved through good cake.

“You have to let me take a picture, cousin!” he exclaimed. Arthur rolled his eyes but placed the platter on the floor anyway. Pocket took several pictures, each with increasingly more creative angles.

“It looks as pretty as you do in the morning.”

“Yes, I’ve woken up with such bulges.” Pocket admitted. Arthur slapped him in the arm and proceeded to place the candles. There were sparklers as well, but Meriwether was not given one. He did not mind as it gave him an opportunity to observe without detection. Pocket looked blissfully concentrated on the cake, and Arthur leaned forward with his stick, waving it within Meriwether’s field of vision and placing sparkles on his eyes. The smell of powder was intoxicating and it threw him back a few years. He remembered his last birthday party almost unwillingly and realized he had been Arthur’s age when it had occurred. He thought of how Arthur would be nineteen in about three months, very close to his own birthday just a month afterwards. How perhaps there would be another party, much like this one, and that Meriwether might get the chance to trick Pocket into bridge again. Just four months until then.

There was something going on between Honoria and Amelia. Their gazes held once every few seconds and drifted away just as quickly, as if to blame the closeness of all the people in the party or to place their touches on the makeshift cake ceremony. Maybe that would be sorted out by then. Maybe it would be advantageous to him and Arthur yet. After all, a happy Amelia meant more support for her brother. Which meant money from that source might yet come his way again.

They sang, all of them off key except for Meriwether, who had not sung at all. Amelia was teary-eyed, even more so when Arthur brought her the red leather-bound Meriwether had gifted him. Belatedly, he realised the birthday party idea might not be simply a week old, and that perhaps Meriwether had had his generosity lead on. He found he did not particularly mind and ate the cake with gusto as it was placed in front of him. He got the exploded part.

At some point afterwards, when midnight had come and turned into one in the morning, Honoria had found the cactus and brought it to the centre of the room. A bit drunk thanks to the strong wine that he seemed to have claimed all for himself, Meriwether confessed that it was the most expensive cactus in the world because it was anti-destruction. It was partly true. Neither he nor Arthur had managed to kill the thing so far and they were the least caring people in the world. A less expensive cactus might have withered away within the hour, just to save the trouble.

Honoria had then made a movement to protect him but Arthur had gathered the plant to his side and proclaimed it ‘his Nick’. Meriwether did not know what to think of Arthur naming a plant and giving him such a boring name of all things. Who the hell was called _Nick_?

Despite not being invited to stay the night - Meriwether’s generosity could only stretch so far - Pocket fell asleep with his head on Arthur's lap as he stroked his hair and listened to something Honoria was telling him. He overheard the name of Neil Gaiman and Arthur reacting with some scorn only to be subdue to muttering by the end. It seemed Honoria had won that round of literary swooning.

By the time Arthur had taken over the course of the conversation to the Classics - a genre Meriwether did not further understand - Amelia touched him in the arm and caught his attention. Nodding slightly to him as if summoning a servant, she got up and crossed the small distance to the window, then opening up and stepping outside to the fire escape. Meriwether followed and noted that the rain had stopped, undoubtedly a work of her if Arthur’s accounts of his sister’s power had any foundation.

“I want to thank you for letting us use your house for this party, Mr Compeyson.”

Meriwether blinked. He had not expected that.

“Meriwether, please.”

Amelia gave him a tight smile. “Better not. Arthur might think we’re being friendly.”

He nodded, feeling at a loss.

“My brother means a lot to me.” she continued, temporarily turning away from him and staring across the street “Even with our fallout we’ve come out united.”

 _Contrary to your attempts_ , she must have silently added if the narrowing of her eyes was half of the feeling behind her words.

“Except poor Arthur,” Meriwether could not resist adding “who does not have a home.”

“He chose his own home, Mr Compeyson.” she replied sharply, temper flaring temporarily “I don’t blame him for it.”

Confused by the use of the word _home_ , he did not speak.

“I blame you and that you have found the way to my brother’s heart. I wish I had found it first.”

She sounded bitter and Meriwether relished in this one advantage he had over all of them. At the end, after all the trouble he had caused Arthur, after all the ways he had made his life complicated, he had chosen him. To live with _him_ , not Amelia. To take up _his_ line of work, not his father’s. Meriwether had somehow come across a sliver of power over one of the richest families in London and all because he had given a boy some _love_. He wondered if Amelia realized the way to Arthur’s heart had already been paved before he had even thought of looking for it.

He saved the thought to himself and hoarded it like a stolen wallet or blackmail material.

“I blame my own father as well,” she continued “but I will deal with the matter as I see fit.”

“That sounds difficult.” he dared to comment.

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “You see, it actually isn’t. I can do it, Mr Compeyson. I’m my father’s daughter. I am heiress to the Havisham fortune and future owner of the Havisham brewery. I have been raised to stand up against people and to get my way.”

There was a pause in which she looked back at the people in the room again.

“If you ever threaten any of those I love again,” Amelia, said, holding herself like a queen “you will know what my _Havisham pride_ actually means.”

Meriwether stood as blank-faced as he could.

“Every criminal leaves a trace, Mr Compeyson. Don’t forget that.”

With that, she re-entered the flat. Meriwether was left blinking against the unforgiving cold before daring to return. When he did, they were playing ‘never have I ever’, which was ridiculous because they all knew each other. Pocket would probably say he had done everything without knowing what it was in the first place. Honoria would lie and probably be trusted in those lies. Arthur would refrain from answering. He was too much like an open book.

Amelia had threatened him. He who knew Arthur had been a hustler and had stolen brandy from an unsuspecting street vendor. He who knew Arthur snored slightly but only in the mornings and that he smelled like chamomile. That he could flirt online but got flustered if Meriwether made a sexual innuendo. That he must have flirted with other guys to their faces and still gotten no smoothness from it. That he had spent the previous week bustling across Whitechapel to learn a new skill just to please his sister and Meriwether in a single action.

Amelia had no idea who Arthur was anymore and all she longed to preserve was her idea of him.

When two in the morning rolled around and Pocket was woken up - rather rudely - by Honoria, they said their goodbyes and left. Not without Pocket promising he’d bring more wine on his next visit. Meriwether surely hoped so.

When his family was gone, and all the dishes were done, Arthur leant against the door and smiled wide. For a few seconds, the lights made his eyes sparkle. Looking at his flushed red cheeks only now did Meriwether realise he had drunk a lot of beer. Then he noticed Meriwether and came to himself.

“Thank you so much!” he exclaimed, twirling around and coming to a stop by the sofa. Meriwether frowned, at a loss for such words. It took him a full minute to realise his confusion was due to not remembering a time in his life in which he had been thanked. Not with honesty and earnestness. Not really.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, “but do not count on further favours.”

Arthur laughed and threw himself on the sofa. “She was pleased, though. Wasn’t she?”

Meriwether nodded curtly, and added for a good measure, “But you’re still cutting your hair.”

“I’ll shave it if you want to,” Arthur said genially, sprawling on the sofa and grabbing the blanket that had fallen to the floor somewhere around the fourth game of bridge.

Meriwether could not help his shudder. “That won’t be necessary.”

He was sure it would be criminal to let Arthur’s hair reach that state. His hair was the kind one could rake one’s hands through, grab onto during sex. It needed length. As he turned to make some sort of sexual joke on it, he noticed that the boy already slept and he supposed there was nothing he could do but the same.

It struck him, as he removed his clothes and fell onto the bed, that Arthur had asked for Meriwether to pay for the cake and alcohol when he had first approached him, and only after his refusal had he offered his newly-found culinary skills. Asked him for something he knew would be denied, only to offer a more bearable solution. One he probably had already been training himself for.

He looked at the sleeping shape of the boy, peacefully resting on a day’s worth of cheap fun. The little swindler.

He was proud. The boy learned fast.

Meriwether closed his eyes. It was high time he put those skills to the test.


	5. red rose petals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia and Honoria stumble still a bit drunk from the birthday party...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long! I'm done with work now so the next chapters should come more easily! Hope you like this one, though.

They returned home close to two o’clock. They had taken a taxi because Honoria did not trust herself in the underground stations, undoubtedly still slippery from the day’s rain. They spent their time speaking about Arthur and his surprising skills, and how there might be something genetic about cooking since both Amelia and her father did not know how to boil an egg. At some point, they decided to bore the taxi driver, who was undoubtedly listening in as they did not bother to keep their volume down, with insults directed at Meriwether. Amelia’s newfound creativity did not cease to amaze her. It was true that she had sounded terrifying when Honoria got to tell her about the man’s threats, but that she had decided to so vocally direct her complaints towards him was a surprise.

Amelia had started speaking more often to her since they had made up. Not two weeks had gone by following her earnest confession and already things seemed to be better. Smiles came easier to Amelia, between long calls to Arthur and equally lengthy conversations with Honoria. She felt honoured by the chances she kept on giving, up until the moment she started to expect them. Her dirty secret was not longer any of those things. She was free or enjoyed as much freedom as Satis House could ever bring to a deviant of its owner’s beliefs.

She spent her evenings recalling their school days with Honoria, bits of memory they no longer had to remember. They belonged to the past. What the future brought, Honoria did not know. Eating Arthur’s food at a con man’s home was, however, a surprising start.

Mary did not even try to hide her frown as they crossed the threshold but cleared it right away as soon as she noticed Amelia’s expression. She and Honoria stumbled into the hall with a few too many drops of wine and beer - Havisham, of course - and had some trouble finding the first step towards the upper levels.

Someone cleared their voice as soon as they put their feet on the first flight of stairs. When Honoria glanced downwards she was not surprised to see Astor Havisham. That he seemed so pleased with their impromptu night out was, however, somewhat startling.

“F-father!” Amelia exclaimed, swerving slightly and dragging Honoria along with her. Astor Havisham looked on and his face brightened.

“It has been too long since I’ve seen you this cheerful, Amelia,” he commented. Amelia said nothing.

“I trust you did not drink too much. You have that meeting tomorrow, after all.” he continued, not sounding very stern when his moustache allowed for the hint of a smile.

“I will perform my duties as it is required, of course.” Amelia shot back, a bit too acidly. Her father seemed to notice it as well and took a step further.

“Of course.” he agreed, voice weary “But you deserve your fun. You’re so young.”

His voice seemed to trail off at the end of the sentence and it was a strain to hear the last word. Young.  _ Young _ . Not as young as her brother.

Honoria thought he wouldn’t be too amused with Amelia’s choice of partying company. She wondered if Pocket would get such a reprimand himself, or if his father was as understanding as he made him out to be. Honoria knew herself how she used to sing praises of her sister whilst hating her. Window dressing, that’s what it was called. The heart could hold much. The Havisham senior was a perfect example of it, smiling so broadly upon his daughter’s life and dismissing his son’s.

“Actually” Amelia started, biting her lip and glancing at Honoria. She understood.

“I was with Arthur.”

Astor looked like he had been slapped. Honoria would have smiled at that, had she not been so petrified. The first time in months Arthur’s name had been mentioned in front of him. The first time his existence had been recognised and the job had fallen to his avenging sister.

Honoria had never been so proud of her.

The silence dragged on. Astor’s moustache twitched slightly and his hand closed into a fist. He would never use physical violence, of course. But he had no needed to use such a thing with Arthur, had he? Honoria started making up a list of essential items to carry in her head, in case things turned south and she was forced to evacuate the house. Amelia’s father, however, sighed and eventually turned away.

“Just don’t do it again.”

Amelia stepped forward and gripped the bannister, never letting go of Honoria’s hand.

“I think I will.” she told him “You can’t stop me!”

Mr Havisham’s voice sounded as if the worries of all the fathers in the world rested on his shoulders. Honoria’s father had started sounding like that towards the end. She thought about what it said about the head of the Havisham family for his downfall to come not in the form of bankruptcy but of a wayward son.

“I never could.”

With that, he was gone. Probably to the living room, or to the kitchen. She had noticed the comfort that division meant whenever someone in Satis House became distressed. Honoria wondered if it were the echoes of Dylis’ motherly comforts that called Mr Havisham forth and there was a moment in which she pictured her ghost telling him off.

They crossed the distance to their room in almost no time. Mary had been kind enough to open up the bed for the two of them and leave their pyjamas in waiting. Honoria decided then and there that they would have to continue their philosophical conversations. Perhaps Mary was her own confidant now, she thought as she undressed and jumped into the pink garments.

She was usually faster than Amelia at it, even when they did more than sleep. Amelia took her time, folding her clothes carefully before fully diving into the new set. Her pants came out first, along with socks. She had been so brave. In the half-light, she was intangible, but not in the same way she tended to be during meetings and serious matters. If Honoria reached out, she  _ would _ touch her. But when she did, it would be like touching a goddess. She was brave in the old ways.

“I love you, you know?” she found herself saying when her own clothes were folded away.

“You’re my best friend.” Amelia told her, removing her cardigan “Of course you love me.”

Honoria could leave it at that. It was true, she had never had a friend like Amelia. A connection that went beyond sisterhood, something she had never felt with Frances. She remembered the tea parties her sister forced her to have only to instil some good manner onto her. ‘You might not expect to attend high society, dear sister,’ she would tell her, ‘but you  _ are _ going to be a proper lady.’ Honoria had wondered if that religious pursuit of propriety was something their mother had taught her and Frances felt the need to share lest Honoria be slighted by never having met her, or if it was something innate to her sister. As if manners would be a good enough legacy. As if manners could ever overcome bankruptcy and distance. Or coldness of the heart.

Honoria could agree with Amelia, hold her friendship above all things. Tell her again of the childhood strolls she could still remember, of the quick detour they would take before being called by their fathers. Recall how they had first bonded over having no mothers before they realised the cruelty of  _ death in childbirth _ . Crying when they found out. Being parted when other friends came along. Bonding again when dual tragedies hit them like there was a red band of fate that ensured they must be there for each other. Whatever may come, friends until the end.

It would be true, but not the full truth. 

“No, not as a friend,” Honoria whispered, allowing Amelia to come nearer. She had noticed her hesitation. Honoria must come across as transparent to her. How could she ever be anything else, when Honoria’s pulse rocketed and her cheeks felt like flames?

Amelia, however, did not comment on it as she took a step closer. They had been this close before. Far closer. But Honoria had never spoken these words before.

“Not  _ just _ as a friend.” she corrected.

“What do you mean?” Amelia asked. Tentative. Testing out the waters. Honoria had been going for hopeful.

“You know what I mean.”

Amelia said nothing and Honoria braced herself for rejection. It would hurt, but she had to know. She’d just have to learn to love Honoria in another way. She loved her in so many already. 

“When did you start feeling this way?” she asked.

Honoria took a short while to reply, fiddling with the strings of her pyjama pants.

“A while,” she told her.  _ Since you found me in that bathroom _ , she thought.

There was silence in which Honoria refused to look at her friend, lest she saw something more. Something that was not allowed.

“I thought you didn’t feel the same,” Amelia said in a small voice.

_ Oh. _

Amelia stepped further and there was nothing else for Honoria to do but to chase that expression of wonder and capture it in her lips. Guard it among the other impressions Amelia had left on her life. The fleeting touches from their first times. Not as fleeting when they got acquainted in a way Honoria never had with anyone else after James. When Honoria ran her hand across the expanse of Amelia’s back, it was the many falls Amelia had taken in St Regent’s that came to her mind, running back home to show off to her baby brother how brave she was. How brave then, how brave even now. 

As Honoria slid her hand downward, she felt not the soft pyjama but their old school uniforms, their woollen sweaters and pressed skirts against the hardwood of desks and cupboards. When Amelia cupped Honoria’s head, she knew it was their first trip to Ireland she remembered, and the stubbornness of wanting to use the train and the bus, and not the plane both their fathers wanted. When Amelia slid a knee between her thighs, that was now. That was certainly different, and wonderful. Honoria wanted all of it.

When they parted, some time later, it was to some relief that she found Amelia smiling. She noticed how aroused she was, hair in disarray and eyes wicked.

“I think I want to give you your birthday gift now,” Honoria told her, gently setting her hand on Amelia’s chest and pushing her down onto the bed. She fell with a soft smile on her lips. Honoria really loved her in that moment. It was one thing to idealise one’s love and live on memories. To reach down and thread each other’s fingers, was another completely different.

When Honoria kissed her again, it was as if she could smell the flowers Amelia liked to bathe in. She could imagine her like that, lounging in her bath and planning to confront her own father. Getting petals stuck in her hair and looking more queen-like because of it. As she removed the pyjama Amelia had so painstakingly put on, she found pleasure in the drag of fabric over bare skin all over again. She could not resist licking the breasts underneath, milky white with rosy nipples. Slowly reddening with Honoria’s touch. When she gently nibbled them, it was almost like eating roses.

Amelia gasped above her and Honoria set to gather Amelia’s hands above her head. Trapped thus, Honoria was left with one hand to remove the pyjama bottoms. She smiled. Amelia was not wearing any underwear.

Amelia helped her remove them and soon enough Honoria was kissing Amelia once again. They continued like that for a while, getting re-acquainted with each other. Rediscovering what made the other gasp. Just like Amelia was partial to being trapped, so did Honoria find pleasure with kisses on her neck.  Amelia took advantage of that and chased that spot between Honoria’s neck and her ear relentlessly. By the time Honoria let go of her hands and stood up, her legs felt like jelly and her pyjama was a hideous hindrance she was eager to get rid of.

Amelia sat up, wonderfully naked. Her delicate silhouette seemed to contradict the proper posture she held, even at such a time. Honoria wanted to ravish her further but was detained by Amelia kneeling on the bed and reaching out towards her. She then proceeded to undress Honoria in her own way, slowly and meticulously. Honoria would rather take her own clothes off with speed, but could not complain when every item removed meant several kisses on the newly-exposed area. Honoria gasped eagerly when it came to her pants, but much to her disappointment Amelia had chosen to kiss her hip bone and inner thigh. Honoria might have whined slightly.

When she found her sufficiently bare, Amelia took Honoria’s hand and dragged her back towards the bed. Honoria fell comfortably with Amelia’s legs around her back and kissed her further. On her nose, on her chin, on her neck and breasts again. When she reached her navel, she remembered anew the time she had visited Amelia at school and her friend had told her that her dorm would be free for the afternoon. It had certainly been an interesting time.

Now, however, they both knew they had to work in a few hours. Honoria would have to get up at seven but Amelia had a bit of a leeway following her birthday. She doubted she would be able to get up after ten. Not even a birthday warded a Havisham away from work. That they even had these few hours, regardless of the state of their sleepy minds come morning, was a precious gift. They hadn’t had this for months.

Amelia must have found her drifting despite Honoria’s constant kisses because she touched her on the shoulder and asked her what was wrong.

Honoria grinned. “Nothing at all.”

Amelia kissed her for that and allowed Honoria to continue. By the time she had placed herself by Amelia’s thighs, surrounding her with that perfect warmth, Honoria marvelled at her wetness. Every touch on the inside of Amelia’s thigh elicited a moan. Every time she did so, Honoria rewarded her with a kiss nearer to her pussy. Starting off with her naval and randomly kissing a soft patch of skin, it took a while for her and Amelia to get to their goal. By that time Amelia had tried to grab Honoria’s hair three times and tried to wriggle down countless others.

Honoria grabbed her thighs with firmness and held them apart just enough to place herself between them. Amelia opened up willingly now that she understood what it was that Honoria intended and she was so wet a small patch had started to form beneath her. Honoria licked her tentatively and Amelia gasped.

“F-Finally!” Amelia moaned above her. Honoria smirked but returned to doing one of the things she did best. Even queens have their weaknesses.

Honoria tried to get more comfortable on the bed as she helped Amelia drag herself further up. Her legs did not seem to obey at the current moment and nearly hit Honoria’s face, making her laugh. When she re-settled she took care to slide her hands across Amelia’s stomach until she could reach her breasts. She started playing with them as she slid her tongue around her clit and tried not to grin and concentrate as Amelia’s gasps got louder. 

She eventually used her fingers as well, taking advantage of Amelia’s slick to more easily penetrate her, taking extreme care not to hurt her. She wondered if she had had sex in the months they had slept in the same room without touching. If she had gone to another’s bed and found comfort in their bodies. If she, like Arthur, had been deprived of warmth.

Amelia, being Amelia, soon became demanding, and wriggled her hips in order to get closer to Honoria’s mouth, as if she wasn’t already working with her tongue in more creative ways. Honoria held the thigh to her right and rubbed her skin soothingly. Amelia shuddered above her and came with a muffled gasp. Eager to kiss her, Honoria removed her fingers carefully and dragged her wet hand across her torso, cupping her breasts as she touched her lips.

“That was very good,” she said between kisses. Honoria thought she sounded breathless and smiled down at her with some smugness.

“You have missed this, haven’t you?”

Amelia allowed for a wicked smile before she led her hand to Honoria’s own wet pussy.

“No, I have missed this.”

Honoria tried to laugh but it quickly dissolved into a gasp as Amelia’s middle finger dipped gently inside her. Neck kisses followed because Amelia knew how to attack and it wasn’t long before Amelia’s attention to her clit brought Honoria to an orgasm.

Their legs tangled together, as well as hands and hairs. Honoria took the time to notice their differences, not unlike she had when they were younger and Honoria hit puberty earlier than Amelia. Back then, Amelia’s hair had been longer than Honoria’s. Now it was cut slightly above her shoulders, ends grazing her neck in a constant kiss. Honoria’s locks fell nearer to her waist, the longer they had ever been, and they were big enough to cover both their shoulders, were the night not so cold and the sheets so inviting.

Their bodies couldn’t be further apart as well. Amelia had always been on the slimmer side, the body quite boyish and without the curves Honoria associated with herself. Her thighs were thin, arms slimmer than average. She did not look all that powerful without her clothes on. Had Honoria not fallen in love with her, she might have simply enjoyed her delicate beauty. As the current state of affairs went, she surrendered to that body willingly and hoped to have it beside her every night for as long as she was allowed.

“I’m really glad we made up,” Amelia whispered finger caressing Honoria’s cheek.

“Me too.” she agreed, capturing her finger with her hand.

“You are my best friend, Honoria. But I want more. I want  _ you _ .”

Honoria nodded as Amelia dove in for a kiss and captured her lips. When she released her, Honoria felt breathless, Helpless to what would become of her of Amelia kept kissing her like this.

It didn’t take long for Amelia to fall asleep, as Honoria knew she would. She had always been like that, worrying during day time and letting all of it go as soon as she hit the bed. The past few months had been challenging in that regard, with Amelia returning home later and later until what made her sleep was not lack of worry but exhaustion. Exhaustion that had made her weary and snappish whenever Honoria had tried to approach her until she no longer tried. 

Now she looked peaceful. Beautiful. Her Havisham nose did not look very Havisham. There was a tiny scar over her eyebrow, one Honoria had seen the making of during a stroll to the park. Amelia had tried to climb a fence, of course, and fallen. Honoria had picked her up right afterwards.

Affection stirred in her chest and she kissed Amelia’s nose before she second-guessed herself. Amelia slept on,  undoubtedly already dreaming. Honoria thought of the familiarity of the scene. Before, when they had done this for fun, Amelia had been friendly but still very much a dream come true. Honoria had accepted it as if she was sleeping with a queen. Someone to look up to, to worship. Someone so beautiful and powerful she had been more afraid of than in love with.

Now, however, things felt different. When she woke up the next morning, her own hair haloing the pillow, and got up with the hopes of not waking Amelia up, she found out what it was to sleep with a lover.


	6. you're a like a milkmaid in red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur cuts his hair and gives Meriwether a wicked idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's footnotes are at least one page long. Prepare yourselves.

Arthur’s fingernails were dirty.

That was his first thought as he woke up the day after the party to find the boy sprawled all over the sofa looking like he had had the most amazing orgy the previous night. Which was not a nice thing to look like when the previous night had been nothing but a birthday party for his big sister. His fingernails were still dirty with cake and that was disgusting enough to make Meriwether scowl at him. All his hard work of making him more suited for the tasks he had in mind, for nothing. The fact that he had, however, fooled him into the party itself still held some surprise and it was with some eagerness that he got up to turn off his alarm before it set off.

His second thought was that the boy had promised him a haircut. The curtain of hair had only worsened in the week Meriwether had given him a reprieve, half amused by the fact that the boy needed so much time to mentally prepare for a haircut and half mad that he was somehow giving him that extra time. He had to make sure he would have his end of the deal, lest the boy take the reprieve was a sign of leniency, and it was with that mindset that he woke Arthur up with a shove and told him to get breakfast ready.

A luxury now. He could actually eat in the mornings and not rely simply on coffee until he found the most convenient place. He had never thought of depriving himself food-wise, but somehow it had happened. Somehow personal grooming and clothing had become more important than feeding himself. It would not do, even if Arthur’s fat-heavy foods were anything but adequate to the physique Meriwether strived to keep. A fat con man could not go very far in this current urban climate.

“We need to buy greens.” he told Arthur when the boy managed to do a stir-fry kind of thing from the leftovers of the party’s meal.

Arthur looked up from where he was inspecting the food he had himself made as if he would have accidentally sprinkled some venom into it when he was plating it up, and smiled.

“Worried you’ll be getting fat?”

Meriwether squinted at him. “Is that your plan?”

Arthur huffed and leant back in his chair. “No, my plan is not to starve.”

“You speak as though I took food away from you.”

“No, you gave a grand total of one meal per day.”

“See?” he told him with a grin “And you call me a tyrant.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one with such illusions of grandeur.”

There was silence for a full minute and then Meriwether spoke again. “My first instinct was to throw the plate at your face. See how civil I am being? Why don’t you try the same?”

Arthur, the bastard, actually laughed at that. “I think calling you megalomaniac and actual physical violence are two different things.”

“You’re getting a haircut,” Meriwether stressed, wincing at the sudden change of subject.

Arthur simply rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just let me finish breakfast.”

“Make sure I don’t see you with that mop you call hair once I return or you’ll find out exactly why I do call myself a tyrant.”

He got up and dropped his plate in the sink. Let the boy handle it because he had had enough for one morning. Arthur ate peacefully on even as Meriwether shut the door, but there was no denying the stiff posture he took on. 

_ Good. _

 

* * *

 

When Meriwether came back home after having a friendly chat with one of his contacts in the city, the incidental theme of the chat being dirt over said contact’s colleagues, Arthur already cooked on. Before he took him in properly or bothered to say hello, Meriwether mused over how he had intended for the boy to become his personal domestic servant, the boy had rebelled, and became an even more sort of specialised domestic servant with illusions of independence. Funny how people created prisons for themselves and called them ‘home’.

He threw his clothes on top of the bed, dropped his shoes and generally made a lot of noise and yet Arthur refused to acknowledge his presence. Thinking that the boy was still sore about Meriwether’s treatment of him in the morning and briefly forgetting what the whole thing was about since they tended to have a daily row anyway, he went to the bathroom and took a bath. When he came back, finally refreshed and still pondering if the Davies bloke his contact had mentioned was worth the trouble, he was surprised to find Arthur sitting in his bed.

A double take, however, told him what he had missed.

“So you had your haircut,” he commented. Arthur nodded, making the effort to look up.

The hair, which had gotten to shoulder length and been chaotic at best in the past week, was now washed and cut neatly. It was shorter than what Arthur had preferred back when they had dated, and the styling was completely different. Shockingly different.

“You’ve gotten an undercut.”

Arthur shrugged. “Nancy said she knew how to do it, and I thought of finding out what it would look like. It’s a bit strange, isn’t it?”

“It looks good on you,” he said, actually meaning that it looked perfect and everything he did not think a haircut could do with someone’s face. The decrease in weight from the base made the hair on top of his head all that much curlier. He looked like what Meriwether could imagine a punk angel might style himself as. “Certainly better than what you had”, he added.

He laughed suddenly and Meriwether found himself distracted by his nose again. “I think I had that haircut since I was twelve.”

_ Ever since your mother died _ , Meriwether thought. He did not say it aloud. He had no use for a sullen Arthur. Not when there were plans waiting to be put into action. That very night, he decided with a perfunctory look at the boy’s face. 

“Is dinner ready?”

“Yes, of course,” Arthur replied, jumping to his feet and starting to fiddle with the pot all at once.

“ _ Puttanesca _ ,” he mumbled as if he intended Meriwether not to hear it. Meriwether dismissed it in favour of peeking over his shoulder at the small pot, filled with pasta and tomato sauce. He did not think there was any protein in the dish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when the smell was so enticing. Arthur had promised him pasta, and here it was.

Pausing briefly to taste the sauce with the help of a wooden spoon Meriwether did not remember purchasing, there was a moment in which both of them were connected, back to back. Meriwether could see the small flaws in the haircut if he squinted, little imperfections where the blade had not been as smoother in its path. There was a freckle right in the centre of the back of Arthur’s neck that he doubted even the boy knew about. Perhaps one, not even his dear mother had seen. He decided to keep it a secret and stepped back.

“So, you did buy greens.” he said, looking at the leafy contents of the nearest bowl.

“Yeah, but they were expensive as hell. Tomorrow I’ll try to buy some when the stalls start to close up. Nancy told me the prices usually drop after six.”

Meriwether refrained from groaning.  _ Nancy, Nancy, Nancy _ . To be hearing her name again from Arthur, of all people, was a curse he did not need hovering over himself. But now she seemed to chase his every interaction with the boy.  _ Nancy cut my hair. Nancy told me how to cook. Nancy knows how to save up. _ Ever after it had all ended, it seemed as if the girl continued to have a saying in his life.

Breaking off his inner rant, he was surprised to find out the table was already set and that the food had been already plated up and that there was a flourish of green on top of the pasta. It seemed Arthur had liked the compliments. Of course he did, he must not be used to them. He bet it had been all an act when he had been so surprised at Meriwether finding him pretty, back when they had shopped for a new wardrobe. He had been simply fishing for compliments then and he bet he had even done so now. He could just imagine Arthur marching up to Nancy and telling her to make him irresistible. To give him an infuriatingly attractive haircut just to mess with Meriwether. Maybe it had been Nancy who had suggested it, just so she could once again shove her expertise on his face. Or perhaps the boy was unaware of his relationship with her. He  _ had _ fainted when Meriwether and her met again.

He tried eating with a scowl but found it was near impossible to do so when it was homemade food on his plate and not some left-over shawarma. 

“We’re going out tonight,” he announced, “Wear the black jeans with the blue shirt.”

Arthur visibly brightened. “Oh? Are we going for a stroll’”

Meriwether sneered at him. Who even went on strolls anymore?

“No,” he mumbled through a forkful of whatever Arthur had called it earlier “we’re going to work.”  
  


* * *

 

 

The club was loud, but not as loud as it would undoubtedly be in an hour. There were a few scattered singles around, already nursing their drinks, and a handful of couple clearly waiting for the remainder of the party. In the time he and Arthur had managed to find a strategically overseeing place, a trio joined one of the couples and created even more of a noise. Meriwether had specifically chosen a gay club to narrow their criteria. Perhaps Arthur could yet present an appealing choice for some women, but they would undoubtedly go for Meriwether himself, and he did not want to be the centre of attentions today. He had dressed as understatedly as he could in contrast to the demurely attractive figure Arthur struck.

They sat down and Meriwether ordered a brandy for himself. Arthur said he simply wanted a coca-cola. 

“Lighten up, Arthur,” he told him when the barman turned “unlike most jobs, ours may actually be better conducted with a drink or two.”

“Or _ over _ a drink or two.” he replied.

Meriwether grinned. “That’s right. What happened to the boy that drunk half a bottle of brandy in one afternoon?”

“He stole another.” Arthur promptly replied, making Meriwether laugh just before the barman turned to serve them their drinks. Meriwether paid.

Arthur glanced nervously at the waiter’s back whilst he turned to serve another customer. “Should we be saying this in the open?”

Meriwether drank a bit of the brandy and smirked. “First, it’s too noisy to make out whatever you are hissing at me.”

Arthur frowned at that. He did tend to get a bit hissy. “Second, these people don’t care. They serve all sorts in here as long as you don’t create trouble.”

Arthur must have heard the ellipsis on his sentence. “And what’s the third?”

“Arthur, darling, I just paid him a substantial tip.”

The boy flushed, which did wonders for his complexion. He sometimes got a bit too sickly pale for outside contact.

“Doesn’t that invalidate reasons number one and two?”

Meriwether shook his head in a show of condescendence. “That extra change is for the illegalities we are about to commit. Didn’t you learn a thing during your rentboy stint?”

Arthur shrugged. “I learned enough.”

Meriwether leant back against the counter and considered the boy for a few moments. “What did you usually do?”

The boy blinked at him.

“I mean, how did you usually approach your  _ customers _ ?”

Arthur frowned and looked suspiciously at Meriwether. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean’?” Meriwether exclaimed, starting to believe the boy was doing it on purpose. “I mean, how do you get them to pay attention to you? What’s your play?”

At that, Arthur visibly brightened. “Oh, I ask if they want me to suck their cock.”

It was Meriwether’s turn to blink. “What, just like that?”

Arthur nodded, looking very pleased with himself. Meriwether downed the rest of the drink. They might need another approach. One that did not involve openly offering sex services.

“You are not to speak.” he told him after a brief moment’s consideration “And you must do whatever whatever I tell you to.”

“I can speak normally!” Arthur protested “I am not a bumbling fool! I studied the Classics!”

“The Classics are not going to help you if you’re just going to say you want to suck their cock,” Meriwether replied with some venom.

“The Classics have taught me  _ how _ to suck cock,” he mumbled, making Meriwether nearly drop his drink. Arthur simply frowned and proceeded to sip sullenly at his drink. He might as well make an effort to  _ look  _ pleasant to talk to, even if Meriwether would make sure not to let him have a word in between.

They spent a few minutes in silence during which Arthur slowly drank the coke Meriwether was pretty sure he was wishing to suddenly turn into vodka or whatever the boy liked to drink. Looking absentmindedly around to check if there were any suitors yet, Meriwether tried to recall the last time he had seen Arthur drink something alcoholic. He came up blank. The boy had not even touched the beer or the wine back at his sister’s birthday, something he had thought strange at the time. Had Arthur given up on drinking after his rampages back in the beginning of the year? He wondered if the drinking could become a dangerous situation if it had become an issue.

He was just about to approach Arthur on the subject when a man sidled up to the stool directly next to Arthur. He seemed to be in his late thirties, slightly on the heavy side and had a nervous kind of expression on his face.  _ Perfect. _

The man ordered a whisky and Meriwether gave Arthur a _ look _ . The boy looked at him with confusion. Meriwether nodded subtly towards the man. Arthur still didn’t understand, to which Meriwether dropped subtlety and nearly gave himself a crick in the neck as he signalled yet harder. Arthur understood, at last, looking through the corner of the eye to the man who was doing just the same. He blushed and squinted at Meriwether, trying to shake his head with unable to do so without drawing attention.

Meriwether grinned and cleared his throat. The man, aware that he had been caught ogling, nearly tipped his glass but looked back at Meriwether anyway.

“Good evening.” Meriwether greeted, extending his hand “John Jasper”

The boy looked at him as if he had grown an extra head. To be honest, he was not sure where he had gotten the name. Must have been someone he’d targeted a long time ago. The stranger, however, did not find the name strange despite the double consonants.

“Edwin Drood”, he replied, eyes still wandering back to Arthur “you, hum, can call me Edwin.”

Meriwether spoke before Arthur could introduce himself and ruin the plan he was forming in his head.

“Nice to meet you, Edwin”, he said, effectively cutting him off. The man looked at him with mild annoyance and Meriwether felt a bit offended. He was only doing his job!

“He is,” he started, grasping for any reason he might have decided to take over the conversation . Both men looked at him and it was Arthur’s disgruntled expression that gave him an idea.

“He is Greek.”

An incredulous expression ran across Arthur’s face. Meriwether felt like he was missing something other than the boy’s general contempt, but trudged on regardless.

“He is an Erasmus student from Greece.” Meriwether developed “Doesn’t speak a word of English. I don’t really understand what he’s saying. I don’t even know his name, poor sod, but he does like to party. We’ve been miming this entire time.”

At this, he did a complicated wave that he hoped resembled something. Arthur glared. It must have because the man gasped, turned immediately to Arthur with sparkling eyes and proceeded to speak. Foreign. Which Meriwether did not understand at all. Arthur looked at Meriwether with trepidation.

_ Oh dear. _

“What are you doing?” he asked the stranger, vaguely hoping for an answer that would not ruin their scheme.

“I can speak to him!” the man proudly declared “I was telling him my name.”

"Oh, I didn't know you were Greek.” he said as brightly as he managed, looking for a way out “You have no accent, it's incredible. You must tell me how you managed that."

"I'm not.” the man replied, once again turning to Arthur “I'm an interpreter."

At that, he translated in what Meriwether supposed to be Greek but could only hear as a garbled procession of Rs and Is. Arthur tried did his best of pretending to understand what the man was telling him.

"Oh," he said faintly. The man would be wanting an answer by now. He supposed there was no way out of it apart from admitting to Arthur being the most English person one could be unfortunate to meet. Why Meriwether found these games amusing when they had the ability to backfire so spectacularly he’d never know. He was about to say just that and perhaps blame it on a bet the boy had made with him when Arthur started speaking. Foreign as well.

Meriwether stared, finding himself mute. When the boy had told him he knew the Classics, he’d be thinking more in the lines of Wilde or whatever homoerotic volumes the nineteenth-century literature entailed. It had not even crossed his mind that the boy had studied the  _ Greek Classics _ , or that he’d learned Greek as well. He was astonished to find that he managed to keep his speech flowing. Just what did they teach at A-levels?

Arthur said something with ‘poli’, discharged a few more Rs and promptly ignored Meriwether to have a deep conversation with the greek interpreter. Meriwether ordered another drink - a mixture he had never heard of before - , conflicted about his thoughts on this development. Arthur had never told him he knew Greek, not even when they had been dating. He had endured countless conversations about literature, rants about the boy’s father and jealous tirades about his sister, but never once had he been informed of this miraculous skill. He felt betrayed.

Edwin seemed to have not noticed the gloomy shadow on the other stool and kept talking in that weird language of his. At some point the man ordered a drink for Arthur, calling the waiter, translating the name of the drinks the waiter listed and then ordering the one Arthur selected. Seeing all the trouble the stranger was undergoing to keep the boy pleased and with his needs met made Meriwether realise that either Arthur’s new haircut had the same effect on other people that Meriwether had felt earlier or that the boy could hold his own.

Arthur started off shy and awkward, as was his usual manner. He made the man laugh several times, and Meriwether thought it impressive. To crack a joke in English before a stranger could be hard enough to timid types like Arthur. To do so in another language seemed almost impossible to Meriwether, who knew no language other than his own. And he mostly relied on wit and puns.

The man did not seem to mind the initial awkwardness and seemed, in fact, incensed by the fluttering eyelashes and quivering hands. It took a couple of minutes for even Meriwether to realise that it was all an act. The hand that held the large vodka the man had ordered for the boy was perfectly still. 

Arthur twitched ever slightly and bit his lips. His back, however, remained firm even in its slumping arch. He seemed more delicate for it, and far more harmless. He had managed to achieve what Meriwether could never - to look unimposing. Like an innocent bud ready for the deflowering or a lovely wench begging to be taken. It was very attractive, and Meriwether wondered if the boy saw himself as he looked right now. If he did, he wouldn’t have further insecurity issues.

The man was utterly charmed and it took him five minutes since the arrival of the drinks to reach Arthur’s forearm and stroke it. Gently, tentatively until Arthur shifted in the chair as if by an accident and closed the distance between the two. The kiss was soft and slightly wet. It made Meriwether sick, but gentleness once in awhile could be a weapon in itself.

The man broke the kiss with a dazed look and said something in Greek that ended with ‘ta’. Arthur replied with a nuzzle and something muttered too low Meriwether could not pick out a single vowel. They spent a few more minute kissing like that. For some reason, Arthur had found acceptable to stare at Meriwether as he snogged the man. By the time the man got up to leave - with another sickly sweet kiss at that - Meriwether had been ready to drop the glass on his foot. Thankfully he was spared the humiliation. Something had left him incensed like that, and he did not know what, but it could have been dangerous for the game.

Edwin gave Arthur a card, hand lingering on the boy’s, and then turned to greet Meriwether.

“Nice to meet you…” he trailed off, looking suddenly embarrassed.He supposed forgetting about a person’s existence altogether because you’re snogging an eighteen-year-old is embarrassing enough.

“John.” he bit out, to which the man nodded.

“And you, Alexandros,” he told Arthur with a double dazed look. He seemed to have forgotten Greek altogether but did not seem to notice as he turned and went away the moment without further clarification. 

“The Classics, huh?” he told Arthur as soon as the man vanished from their sight.

Arthur blushed. “Well, I did tell you I was the useless one in the family.”

That was a bit unfair. “You didn’t seem useless just now. I hoped to make you mute and had my attempts turned against myself.” He could admit to his mistakes, as long as they proved fruitful.

“Any other languages I should be aware of?” he asked, vaguely hopeful. Being able to scam the English-speaking world was good enough, but other languages could hold unexpected possibilities.

Arthur shook his head. “I know the basics of Latin and Spanish. And French, of course.”

Meriwether felt justified in his desire to throw a glass at the boy. “Of course.”

So the boy knew English, Greek, French, Latin and Spanish. A whole of five languages against Meriwether’s one and a half and he considered himself useless.

“I thought languages were a valuable asset in a company such as your father’s.”

“I doubt it. My sister was always meant to inherit the company, as the eldest. My father brought her up to match the part as well, and he favours her business skills. That’s why she took Economics and Mathematics and went to Oxford to do Management. She worked all her life to get to the stage where she could take over the brewery. You can’t get more specialised than that. Me, an employee? They have far more suitable people working there right now. I went for several visits and it’s a bit...scary. I would just get in the way, trying to keep up with my sister.” At this, he smiled ruefully. “Besides, it’s not really an option right now.”

Seeing as the boy seemed to be tipping into yet another depressing mood, Meriwether changed the subject. “What did you get from dear Edwin? You two seemed very chummy at the end. I  _ daresay _ he was a bit sad to go away.”

Arthur smiled, this time, shy and without an ounce of sadness. “I  _ daresay _ I got lucky that he had to go home earlier. He did seem  _ morose _ about it.”

Meriwether laughed at that. “ _ Morose _ , was he? What did you discuss to make him so  _ morose _ ?”

There was a mischievous twinkle in Arthur’s eyes. “You should ask me what we did  _ not _ speak about instead. I think I have his life story!”

“Do tell” Meriwether demanded. Arthur grinned and launched into a tirade of strange, mistranslated words -  _ It doesn’t sound good in English, Meriwether, you wouldn’t understand _ \- accompanying the vanilla trajectory of a simple Hellenistic pursuit in a small university that had culminated in a very secure position in a governmental facility of some kind as well as the odd jobs for companies that needed his services. Meriwether felt slightly dizzy after Arthur’s self-imposed interruptions to correct himself in mid-speech, half due to the onslaught of badly organised information, half due to the random criteria of collected quotes. He was a bit surprised that he had managed to gather so much from simply one hour worth of conversation. Not only had Arthur and the man bonded over a common and yet foreign language but they had also seemed to share enough cultural references to having created a unique exchange. That, however, did not bring them any closer to profiting off such data if the boy did not process into  _ useful _ information.

“He studied in Athens. Can you imagine that! I had to pretend I actually knew the college and every work by Plato. Which I don’t.” he admitted, stifling a laugh “I mean, I did read the Phaedrus, but it was simply one book! And I only read it because it was in  _ Maurice _ . I am hardly an expert.”

Meriwether stared dazedly at him. “I have no fucking idea what you’re on about.”

It felt good, saying it like that, He had never gotten the chance to do so back when they were dating and he had learned more about nineteenth-century literature than he had ever wanted to.

“But” he started, looking at Arthur’s dejected pout “Hum...Do you know anything we might use?”

Arthur frowned, making the pout fiercer. “Use?”

“Yes, of course.” Meriwether huffed “Did you think this was a way to test your flirting skills?”

Arthur’s expression told him that had been indeed his interpretation.

“Blowjobs offers aside,” Meriwether smirked “I know you can flirt. You know, you can’t fool me with that milkmaid act of yours.”

Arthur - the little nymph - actually blinked “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Of course, you have your comfort zone,” he told him, slowing dragging his glass across the wood of the bar “but I’m sure you do know what you have to do now. It’s quite simple.”

Meriwether stopped the glass just as it seemed to tip over the edge, made sure the boy had noticed his movement and feigned its restart. Arthur was quick to wrap his hands around it, touching Meriwether’s in the process. His sly smile faded.

“Surely you don’t expect me to blackmail him. _ You _ are the expert.”

“I expect you to get money from darling Edwin.” he informed him, drinking the sudden tension on his shoulders, the tight grip on the glass “I am not particular to the means you use.”

Arthur opened his mouth, probably to contest Meriwether’s decision. Meriwether covered his hands so they both held the precariously placed glass.

“Didn’t you want to be like me?”

Arthur shook his head, looking alarmed. “Not like you,” he whispered.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment.

“Be better, then.” Meriwether challenged.

The sudden glint in Arthur’s eyes told him he had chosen his words well. Meriwether grinned.

“We’ll strike in two day’s time.”

Arthur shrugged. "Pity. He was very nice. Knew all the classics."

 

* * *

 

The man’s card told them his address and consulting time - apparently the only thing he and Arthur had not discussed. The Plan, based on the man’s particular story, was, however, Arthur’s little secret for the time Meriwether had stipulated as adequate breathing time. Which was a nice way to put ‘enough time to not look desperate’.

Arthur had spent the day after their little experiment at the bar sitting at the computer, sending dirty messages to Greece or Spain or whatever country he was suddenly qualified to provide erotic entertainment for. Having an early start that day and a later return, Meriwether could not say if he had done so all day long. All he had been notified of was the increased capital on his bank account through the PayPal thing he had set up with Arthur. The boy had also spent more time than he usually did on the Internet after dinner. When questioned about it, he said that ‘good plans always come with extensive research’. Hoping that it was indeed true, Meriwether had let him be. He had managed to access the neighbours’ wi-fi password for some reason after all.

They had spent the evening in comfortable silence as Meriwether read up on the daily news. Unsurprised by the riveting accusations during the Parliamentary sessions, he was still riveted by their conclusion. Politicians. They always provided the best amusement.

When the day came, however, the boy belied his previous inflated confidence with his ever-shifting eyes and twitching hands. That day being a Saturday. Meriwether had opted to stay in for damage control. Which had been a terrible idea. The boy had spent the majority of the morning at Nancy’s to ‘gather courage’, or so he told him. Lunch ended up burned. Meriwether had to reign in his temper several times and felt tempted to just do some blackmail himself. Which he usually did as either a last resort or when his creativity was lacking.

However, when it was time to leave and Arthur had dressed up in his finest jeans, Meriwether was confident that he would not fumble too hard.

They headed out to Notting Hill shortly after four. The day was not as brisk as it had been the rest of the week. He had been out the entire evening before Amelia’s party and nearly frozen his balls off when he had been forced to make a hasty exit from a house in Southwark. The husband, as if taken straight out of a dirty joke manual, had returned home earlier than usual and the wife had not yet been as invested in the affair as he would have liked to permit a guilt-based blackmail. It had not been fun to dress quietly in the backyard with a dog peacefully snoring by his side and the bell in the cathedral reminding him that it was one in the morning, but the prospect of good money had helped him grit through the cold.

Now, with no affair yet undertaken and the man in question being apparently sin-free, he was not expecting such a conclusion from their evening. He was still weary of the boy’s mysterious plan, however, and it was with great resistance that he stayed put when Arthur told him he wanted to go in alone. The street, Cornwall Crescent, was unusually quiet for a Saturday. Its proximity to Portobello Road made it even stranger. Perhaps the major attraction just a couple of streets away made the street not as appealing to go through. Only the odd couple ventured, passing by to other parts of the borough. Meriwether was pleased with the small amount of traffic as it meant he could more easily observe what went on, be ready for any eventuality. From where he stood, Meriwether could picture the amount of money the man must earn in order to afford to house in this area. If he had cared about pilfering the man’s income before, he no longer did.

A woman opened the door, looking suspicious at the intruder. Arthur spoke to her for a few moments, showed her something - Edwin’s card, he supposed - and she let him in. Before she closed the door, however, she swept the street with her eyes and noticed Meriwether, who had not been able to hide behind a tree in time. He was quick to fumble with his pockets and take out a cigarette, painfully aware of the pair of eyes set on him. He only looked up when the door finally shut.

“Damn.” he muttered to the empty street.

A full hour passed before he saw Arthur again. In the meanwhile, the woman had managed to seek him out at least three times. Fortunately, Meriwether had been smart enough to hide just beyond the corner and make it impossible for anyone in the street to observe him, whereas he could see everything. Nothing happened and he was bored by the time the door opened and Arthur stepped out. He wasn’t alone.

Meriwether watched as dear Edwin looked around the street, embraced the boy and patted his shoulder. He closed the door only when Arthur turned around and stepped into Meriwether, an event that fortunately had gone unobserved.

“You really ought to get more careful, young man.” he told Arthur to masquerade the anticipation running through him.

Arthur looked up at him and relaxed as soon as he saw who had spoken. “And you really ought to stop hanging in corners like a creepy old man.”

Meriwether smirked almost against his will. If Arthur was joking like this, at least some part of his planning had been successful.

“So,” he started, looking around briefly for the off chance that they were not indeed alone “don’t you have something to show me?”

Arthur stared at him intently and slowly unbuttoned his Burberry. Meriwether thought he was being a tease, but as soon as he saw what he had hidden, he understood his trepidation. There were at least five hundred pounds in cash safely tucked away in the jacket’s inner pockets. He thought again of the man’s occupation, that allowed him to have so much money at hand in his home.

Looking at Arthur again, he saw the barely contained glee and self-satisfaction.

“How did you do it?”

Arthur’s eyes shifted around and he grabbed Meriwether by the arm towards the alley Meriwether had been hiding in whenever the woman looked around.

“Remember how he told me he had been studying in Athens? And how you said I was an Erasmus student?”

Meriwether nodded. It hadn’t been his brightest lie.

“Well, I thought I could research the universities there and figure out which one he could have been in. Turns out, there is only two with Classical Languages and Literature. I read about both just to make certain.”

Meriwether urged him to go on. What on Earth did that have to do with potential dirt?

“Well, I thought that if I pretended to have gone to the same one he did, we could have bonded over that.” he explained, clearly fighting to keep a grin off his face “So I rung him up for this meeting because I thought he wouldn’t have appreciated me just showing up out of the blue.”

“I didn’t notice you calling him.” he commented, knowing perfectly well that he wouldn’t have the chance to because he had spent the entire day away.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Nancy helped me this morning.” At Meriwether’s sudden glare, he shrugged. “What? I didn’t want to fuck this up.”

Meriwether relented. “So what did you tell him when you met that he actually gave you this much money?”

Arthur’s grin was now in full bloom. “That’s the best part!”he proclaimed, now closing his peacoat again “I told him that I wanted to continue studying in London because I loved it so much but that I could not afford to take English classes because with the tuition, the food expenses and the rent left me with no money for it. And then he told me he had once been in the same situation, of course, and that he knew the allowance they give the students is basically worth nothing in London and that he would love to help me.”

He stopped suddenly. “And that’s it.”

Meriwether blinked. “Wait, what? Tuitions? Rent? English classes?  _ That  _ worked?”

“You were the one that taught me about it!” Arthur exclaimed, frowning slightly. At Meriwether’s still confused look, he continued.

“The victim card!” he added. Which, he admitted, was enough to make him understand.

_ “Please, Edwin.” _ Arthur said, changing his voice slightly  _ “I would never ask anyone for this but I’ll have to return home this week if I don’t have the money. Oh, of course, Alexandros, I can see you are an honest boy.” _

“That’s…brilliant, actually.”

Arthur grinned. There was something about his eyes and the well-known tilt in the corner of his lips that stopped his breathing. Meriwether just stopped and considered the change in the past few months. Of what the boy had been before, and what he was now. Meriwether had told him to be better. Judging from the amount of money he had on his coat and the ease of which he had earned it, he was somewhat in awe. Something stirred in the bottom of his stomach. He had performed so wonderfully.

“Good boy.” he heard himself whisper, as if from above. Arthur licked his lips and it was enough for Meriwether to get disoriented.  He leant over, ducking for a kiss, but found only Arthur's cheek. 

He inhaled deeply, forehead against Arthur’s, who had gone deadly still underneath him, head still turned to the side. He blew out a shaky breath and grimaced.

"Sorry," he said, still unable to tear himself from Arthur's sphere. Then he proceeded to deduct a series of things. First, he realised he had gotten distracted. Arthur had smiled like he used to, back when they had been dating. He had changed but, for a second, it had been the same spark of novelty. Secondly, being so close to him, he noticed he still smelled like chamomile. He thought he should buy him another shampoo. It must have been the smell getting to him. The boy did not smell great on most days because he was lazy to shower. Thirdly, he remembered he had cut his hair two days before and had not washed his hair since. That realisation was the most problematic. He did not realise he had been keeping count.

"I'm not a pet to be rewarded." Arthur gritted, breath blowing warm against Meriwether.

"I know." he sighed against his hair. Then he noticed he had pushed Arthur against the brick wall and that it must be hard against his back. He stepped back. Arthur could not look him in the eyes, but it did nothing to quell the fire in Meriwether’s stomach. Only the increasing cold provoked by the setting sun seemed to work.

They resumed their return home in silence. The danger of being caught was long gone and the spell Arthur had used on him without being aware had vanished. Meriwether could think clearly again and he used that ability to plan his next purchases. That money would last them at least another month with every expense accounted for, but with their extra pocket money, they could make another round of shopping, Having the proof of Arthur’s invention and ability to react favourable to uncomfortable situations gave him hopes for bigger schemes. Meriwether’s speciality was blackmail. Arthur’s seemed to be his innocent act, endlessly enticing and potentially dangerous. If Meriwether worked out how to properly use it.

“You’re feeling guilty, aren’t you?” he asked, when they got off in Whitechapel station and nearly lost the stop due to Arthur’s distant gaze. He practically had to drag the boy. Arthur blinked, suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings. The clay bricks and the familiar avenue. Then he looked at Meriwether.

“Sorry, what?”

“You’re having second thoughts.” Meriwether stated, “And after the fact.”

He was always late.

Arthur frowned. Then comprehension dawned upon him and he stared gravely at a spot in Meriwether’s neck.

“Yeah, well. What’s done is done.”

Somehow, Meriwether felt like he had missed something.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> Arthur’s new haircut - https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3f/98/57/3f98572baffe2468c3e446c8d9e65784.jpg
> 
> Spaghetti alla puttanesca - "spaghetti in the style of a prostitute" in Italian. A tangy, somewhat salty Italian pasta dish invented in the mid-20th century. The ingredients are typical of Southern Italian cuisine: tomatoes, olive oil, anchovies, olives, capers and garlic. (source: Wikipedia)
> 
> The Greek Interpreter - A Sherlock Holmes story.
> 
> Gia, legome Alexandros. Herw poly. - This is what Meriwether heard, despite not being able to translate in his head. It means ‘Hello, I’m Alexandros. Pleased to meet you.’ (Both Arthur and Alexandros/Alexander are thought to have ‘man’ in their etymology. Plus, they both start with an ‘A’ and you know how the Havishams are with As…)
> 
> Tipota - It’s nothing/You are welcome
> 
> (SPOILER FOR THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD) John Jasper - Uncle of Edwin Drood who has an opium habit. He cares for his nephew but harbours secret feelings for Edwin's fiancee Rosa Bud. Edwin disappears and the story ends prematurely with Dickens death but many believe that it was Jasper who killed Edwin Drood. Dickens describes Jasper as "a dark man of some six-and-twenty, with thick, lustrous, well-arranged black hair and whiskers. He looks older than he is, as dark men often do. His voice is deep and good, his face and figure are good, his manner is a little sombre. His room is a little sombre, and may have had its influence in forming his manner." in “The Mystery of Edwin Drood” (Source: Wikipedia)
> 
> (SPOILER FOR THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD) Edwin Drood - An orphan, Edwin has been promised to Rosa Bud since early childhood. Later Edwin and Rosa rebel against the arrangement. Rosa is also wooed by Edwin's uncle John Jasper. Edwin turns up missing and his watch is found in the river. Jasper hints suspicion of Neville Landless in the disappearance when the novel ends abruptly with the death of Dickens in 1870 in The Mystery of Edwin Drood. (Source: Wikipedia)
> 
> Phaedrus - The Phaedrus was presumably composed around 370 BC, about the same time as Plato's Republic and Symposium. Although ostensibly about the topic of love, the discussion in the dialogue revolves around the art of rhetoric and how it should be practised, and dwells on subjects as diverse as metempsychosis (the Greek tradition of reincarnation) and erotic love. In a key scene from the film adaptation of Maurice, students, including Maurice, attend Dean Cornwallis's translation class in which two undergraduates orally translate into English the text (based on) Phaedrus (Stephanus 251a, 255a–e), during which the Dean instructs one to "Omit the reference to the unspeakable vice of the Greeks". (Source: Wikipedia)
> 
> Erasmus - European student exchange program. I don’t know if there are two universities with a Classical Languages and Literature course. That part I made up.


	7. embossed gold over red leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honoria reads, Amelia receives a gift. They both get lucky in the end.

_ “Constancy in love is a good thing; but it means nothing, and is nothing, without constancy in every kind of effort.”  _

There was a smudge on the bottom of the page, blotting the next word. Honoria thought it was ‘effort’, but it could also be ‘foot’. She decided the first and stopped, considering the sentence. Dickens was clearly a man who either loved to expand on his sentences or one that got paid by the word. She suspected the latter. But this one sentence he had refrained, and she was glad of it.

It was a Saturday and Honoria was home for the day. It had been two days since she and Amelia had made up in the only way that was missing. She still floated on clouds whenever she happened to think of the after-party fun the two of them had and promptly forgot whatever she was supposed to be doing. It had gotten a bit problematic at work and even Kate had noticed it, calling her to the real life whenever it seemed like she would sigh her existence away.

Today, however, she wasn’t supposed to be doing anything. For the first time in many months, she was content. She did not work for the weekend, Amelia only did the morning at the London Brewery, and the promise of yet another playful night made Honoria hum every few minutes. She could not be completely idle - what would the hardworking Amelia think of it? - and thus chose a random volume from the massive collection of eighteenth and nineteenth-century novels that the Satis House library possessed. The one Honoria held - Bleak House - was particularly mouldy, but the dry conditions of the room prevented an extensive decay.

The volume was beautiful, embossed gold over red leather. The Havishams of the past had clearly cherished it. Whatever may be said about the Victorians, they certainly knew how to create beautiful things. Feeling the delicate texture of the volume, she opened it yet another time and inspected the page. Her eyes fell on the last sentence again. It seemed to taunt her, somehow. Constancy in every effort...

She wished to create beautiful things as well.

She wished to publish, one day. Or to write in a fashion magazine, to leave a no-nonsense legacy in chronicles and reviews. She knew that the chances of achieving that goal were small, but one could dream. The goal was made of dreams and hard work, after all. Didn’t the Havisham senior repeat that much? Didn’t Amelia grow up with these ideas and managed to earn her spot on her father’s side? Whatever she might blame him of, the man was known for his integrity. He was definitely a role model. Albeit a very homophobic one. 

The click of a door made her smile. 

“Hello there,” she said, closing the book on her lap.

A kiss greeted her, soft and tender as a butterfly’s touch. “I hope your morning was not terribly boring without me.”

Honoria sighed. “You know it was. But dear old Dickie here kept me company.”

“Dickie?” Amelia exclaimed with a laugh. She peered down at Honoria’s lap and snorted.

“I really don’t think he’s a suitable substitute.”

Honoria looked up, took in her outfit, and smiled. She was wearing purple again. After a period of almost mourning clothes, finally colour. One that looked splendid on her, or so she thought. Honoria’s experience at the tailor informed her of the danger of the colour purple. It was a hard colour to pull off, especially in men. They usually just wore in in handkerchiefs or ties, never as a main. Women were bolder, of course, as they always were, and she had held several enviable dresses in her hands during fittings. Amelia managed it, of course, as she managed everything else. Of course, her colour had to be an uncommon one. Honoria noticed the slightly frayed hem of her jacket and made a note to remind Amelia of the malfunction. Now, however, she simply looked at her friend and smiled. She was definitely constant in love.

“He’s not one at all.” Honoria retorted, getting another kiss as a reward “He keeps giving people terrible endings.”

“Then be thankful you’re not one of his characters.” she said with a finality that could only mean one thing.

Honoria welcomed the kisses the followed and no conversation was held for a while. She moved sideways on the couch to allow Amelia a better access and forgot the book altogether. Amelia sat on the arm of the couch and gradually shifted into a more comfortable angle. A much more comfortable angle that somehow dissolved into a myriad of new touches and breathless moans. Those held the possibility of much more and Honoria was about to suggest they take their wordless conversation to the bedroom when a knock at the door startled them both.

They parted and Amelia shot her a wicked look before calling out to whoever had interrupted them, Very wicked indeed as she gave Honoria almost no time to properly settle in a non-suspicious state. The intruder stepped inside carefully as if guessing the intimacy of the room’s occupants.

Of course, Honoria thought. She had been expecting the visit earlier in the week, taking into account Amelia’s birthday, but he must have waited until the weekend in order to prevent conflict with her busy schedule. He was efficient like that, even in the management of his own affection. 

“Where is my favourite Havisham?” Jaggers asked in the proud but contained tone he used uniquely on Amelia.

He looked splendid in his usual suits, fitted to the extreme. Despite his sensible management of money that had ensured his stay with the Havishams in the past twenty years, she doubted he was hoarding when it came to spending money in order to become presentable to his clients and the general public.

Amelia stood and smiled. She did not move nor speak, however, and it confused both Jaggers and Honoria before he looked to her right and spotted the third person in the room.

“Honoria.” he greeted with a perfunctory smile. She had no hard feelings about that. He had been involved with the Havishams far before Honoria had, and she was still pretty much a stranger in his eyes. Amelia’s schoolmate, a best friend perhaps. Not too important, but a necessity in Amelia’s life because even women like her needed to have a social life. If he only knew that they did not intend to have a very social life from now on, he might re-evaluate her presence. As it stood, they mutually ignored each other like two distance places in the globe, attached to the same shape but almost unaware of each other’s existence.

“Jaggers.”she nodded. Amelia looked pleased with that and smiled again at the lawyer.

“A bit sad for not having the other Havisham by her side.”

Jaggers looked carefully at her, side glancing Honoria. Whichever words he spoke next, they would have been carefully chosen. Arthur had always been a polarising subject between Amelia and the rest of the family. She and Pocket had been his only champions up until now. After seeing the way he had been so quickly dismissed, Honoria no longer counted herself amongst Arthur’s opposition. She wouldn't call it a rally for his reinstatement just yet. Not when she was unsure he wanted to return. He confused her terribly. Amelia was cleaner, straight to the point. Arthur would have avoided speaking with jaggers, hiding away in his room so he could pretend to ignore his visit, and not be wounded at being ignored himself. Amelia lifted her chin, fire in her eyes, and addressed the interlocutor that dared to slight her.

“I take it that it is not your father you’re speaking of,” Jaggers commented, completely humourless.

“No. It’s my brother. Who must not be named, apparently.”

Jaggers sighed. “You know these are difficult times for your father.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow and a disbelieving smirk grew on her lips. “What, like my brother’s current condition is not difficult?”

Jaggers closed his eyes, clearly reticent in provoking Amelia on such a prickly matter. “That is not my point.”

Amelia huffed and sat back in the armchair. Honoria touched the small of her back, feeling the smooth fabric prevent from jumping up herself.

“Of course, it’s not.” she agreed “It was never a point.” Jaggers looked confused for a minute, unsettled by the cold tone in her voice. As far as Honoria knew, he had done nothing wrong. It was strange of Amelia to lose her temper like this.

“Really, Amelia, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“With all due respect, are you or are you not the one that overviews our bank accounts?”

Jaggers sighed and something shifted on his eyes. Recognition. Guilt. He had been caught red-handed, but Honoria did not know the crime.

“I am,” he replied, holding himself taller. Honoria had not noticed him slouch, but it was true he held himself more comfortably around Amelia, even more so than before her father. She wondered if he'd do it again, after being hit with her inquiry.

“Then you were the one to block Arthur’s account.”

“I was.”

“And you knew the reason behind that?”

“I did.”

“And you still did it?”

“Of course.”

Amelia, winded up by the quick exchange, faltered. Her arms hung limply by her sides.

“Why?” she asked “Isn’t he a Havisham? Like me and my father? Doesn’t he have a right to have some means to live a dignified life?”

Honoria did not question what she meant by _ dignified _ . Certainly not icy blue eyes, a trail of cigarette smoke and an existence in the borders of civilian life. She thought back to her conversation with Mary about pride. What if Arthur like it, living this way? He had never liked his life in Satis House, never cared for the parties or the added weight of the Havisham name. He had mostly hovered, anxious and distant, keeping to himself so he wouldn’t be in the way. He hadn’t wanted to work at the brewery, to tag along with his father’s associates. He had pointedly started his A-levels with subjects the furthest away from Amelia’s as he could as if to distance himself of the well-cultivated utility of his family. What if dignity and pride, things that clearly went hand in hand for Amelia, were not as important to the younger Havisham? What if they meant something altogether different, like living away from expectations and disappointments and having a spot for his own? Even if said spot was located on the other side of London.

Jaggers seemed appeased with her question. “Your father is my client, not Arthur. All the money Arthur had was linked to your father. If your father wishes to block it, he can do it. If your brother wishes to reclaim it, he can file the lawsuit. One your father will undoubtedly be able to stave off or win.”

Sometimes Honoria actually became surprised with the coldness these executive or economic types could produce. She hoped with all her heart that Amelia did not turn out that way. Judging from the rise of her eyebrows and the stare she levelled at Jaggers, she knew deep down she could not. For all that she emulated her father, she was her own person. Not a puppet following orders.

“You make it sound as if my brother is a criminal.”

Jaggers did a movement like a shrug.

“He went against your father’s rules,” he replied evenly. 

“By being himself!”

“I am not in the position to judge. What you brother does in his spare time, though admirably exploratory of him, was too provocative for this house.”

Honoria had half a mind to tell him what provocative was. Provocative was sleeping with your best friend and roommate for years without a single suspicion other than ‘you girls look very tired this morning’. Provocative was doing it with your father down the hallway with keys to every door. What Arthur had done had been thought out, requested. It wasn’t his fault he had been deceived. Far more experienced people would have as well, probably already had. Meriwether seemed a master of his trade.

Honoria would have liked to punch Jaggers, to relay her indignation in the clearest way. No roundabout sentences, no vague words. The last time she had done so to a man with such a bone structure she had been left with a sore hand. She had no doubts Amelia had a desire to it as well.

“I see,” Amelia replied, quietly.

It was with some surprise that she saw her sigh, smile briefly and speak again to Jaggers in a conversational tone. As if she had not been to the point of throttling him for insulting her views, for making her defence of Arthur seem inconsequential, out of her hands. Only the tight crinkle in her eyes seemed to denounce some tension, but Jaggers seemed to have not noticed. Honoria did, of course.

“That, however,” he said with a quick but relieved smile “is not the reason I am here.”

With that, he managed to break a bit of the tension in the room. Honoria found herself breathing just a bit easier. Amelia, nonetheless, sat with her back as firm as a rod. Honoria hoped she would not snap, for the sake of general peace. Jaggers had apparently found the subject terminated because his next words were carefree, unaware of the roiling thunder in the room.

“I believe it was your birthday the other day.” he continued, posture clearly opening up in the hopes of another, far more enjoyable topic. Honoria suppressed a smile. As if the date - or any other - would go unnoticed by Jaggers. Even Honoria had gotten a bouquet of flowers the past Fall.

“I have your gift is outside.” he proclaimed. Honoria hoped it was not a car. Seeing as Satis House did not possess a garage big enough for two cars, she thought it unlikely. Jaggers’ practicality would not allow it to be so. He also favoured the smaller, more significant gifts instead of the lavish presents Astor Havisham presented his kin with.

Amelia bowed her head and Honoria made to reach for her book again. Her friend liked Jaggers company, all things considering, but she was aware they had spent few moments together since Christmas. The only events that made them meet up were definitely business-oriented and not particular kind for any type of catching up. Honoria was certain that they would want to be alone for the gift-giving, but Amelia’s touch on her wrist made her look up.

“Don’t you want to see what it is?” she asked.

“I thought you could show me later,” Honoria replied.

“I  _ want _ you to come,” she whispered. Jaggers hovered by the library door. Honoria grinned, thoughts of Arthur not quite forgotten. He must have felt this way when he held Meriwether’s hand and showed him off to Amelia and Honoria.  _ We are together _ , he had said then.

“Alright.” she nodded, getting up, actually meaning,  _ we are together  _ as well.

They stepped outside where Mary was already waiting, holding a very unexpected gift indeed. It barked, had four short legs and white and black hair.

“Oh my god.” Amelia gasped. Honoria did not fail to notice the unrestrained excitement in her voice.

It was a puppy. A fluffy, poofy and equally eager puppy.

Amelia squealed and jumped in front of Mary. Honoria and Jaggers shared a look. Honoria tried to returned his gaze with a cold on, but the sounds Amelia let out were amusing, to say the least. The man looked very proud of himself if a bit alarmed at the noise. The last time Honoria had heard her laugh like that they had been eight and on a field trip to the zoo. All sorrows seemed to have been temporarily forgotten in order to shower the pup with some attention.

“I take it you like him,” Jaggers said, infinitely more relieved than he had been in the library.

Amelia turned around after carefully, trying to look very dignified as a dog scratched at her expensive jacket and tried to lick her neck.

“I do,” she said haughtily. Honoria could tell she was having a hard time trying not to cry. She could not blame her, the poor thing was adorable and seeming to exude affection in equal amounts to her new owner. Honoria was having a hard time trying not to laugh.

“Do you remember Spotty, Amelia?” Jaggers asked. Honoria snorted. Amelia’s first love. Though she remembered the beast herself with some fondness from looking at it across the courtyard, she hoped this one would not grow to Spotty’s size. Or mischievousness.

“Of course, I do.” she huffed, drawing the current dog closer to her chest. As if she would have forgotten any animal that had gone through this household. Arthur had been four when it died, leaving a devastated eight-year-old Amelia behind. Thankfully the boy had never questioned it too much, or the combined wailing would have reached her across the street.

Amelia stared at Jaggers and straightened again, looking very serious for someone who was now being licked in the nose.

“Thank you for the gift. I love him very much already.”

“I can tell.” Jaggers mused. There was a moment of silence in which neither looked at each other, but rather at Mary, who flushed and said she had something she had better get on to. Honoria observed the both of them, uncomfortable with the silence, and started when the dog unexpectedly barked. 

Amelia looked down and smiled. She proceeded to reach for Honoria’s hand and give it a twitch.

“Let’s go for a walk!” she commanded, looking at Honoria alone. She thought she had made her point clear, and Jaggers certainly did not look any closer to offering himself for a walk. He simply gave the two a small nod, said a goodbye, and stalked down the corridor, probably in search of his overcoat.

The two blew out a breath.

“Well, that wasn’t potentially catastrophic at all,” Honoria said with a small huff. Amelia frowned, enfolding the dog in her lap, who was now busy playing with the lapel of her jacket. Honoria changed her mind about fixing the garment. It was simply not worth it if he was going to chew it all the way to the park. Honoria touched her neck, drawing her attention.

“Going for that walk now?”

The weather was not terrible per se. But it wasn’t sunny either. Grey clouds, charged with impending water, threatened to cut their walk short. The wind, however, wasn’t as biting as it had been the rest of the week. Hyde Park was already overrun with joggers and families, some couples with their dogs. Honoria couldn’t help the comparison between Amelia and her and the odd pairs with a huge diversity of canine friends. There were certainly some dangerously hyperactive creatures. Amelia wouldn’t be able to set the dog on the floor and allow it to run just yet, but he could definitely appreciate the fresh air. Honoria did so herself.

“Wait. Hold him.” Amelia commanded after a few minutes of walking in silence. Honoria obeyed, shifting her own jacket to prevent major damage. The dog wasn’t as heavy as she thought he would be, which was a great thing because the sort of twitching she was subjecting herself to should have come with a warning. How was it that Amelia had him controlled so far? A shift on her hold, and he seemed to calm down. Huh. Who knew he'd be particular to a position.

“We should name him,” Amelia said as she took out her phone and clicked away, Honoria pretended that she was not posing or making the most of her better angle and Amelia pretended not to notice. Overall she would have enough material for an Instagram post or at the very least a screensaver pic.

Amelia stopped at some point, of course. She looked deliciously unaware of the effect she played on Honoria, hair slightly in disarray and jacket open from dragging the dog out of her hold. “I think he should be Jip.”

Honoria frowned. “Jip? What sort of name is that?”

“I don’t know. He looks like a Jip to me.” Amelia replied with the precise way she usually reserved for her business plans. Honoria would never understand where dogs names came from. Maybe there was a special place in every person’s brain that helped them pick a name for their pet whenever it was needed. Seeing as she had only ever had a cat and it was more her sister’s than hers, she couldn’t know.

“Is this a date?” she asked as Amelia took the dog - now apparently called Jip - back into her arms. It seemed to belong there. Honoria half-suspected whenever Amelia held her at night it must look the same. She doubted that the amount of drooling was the same, however.

“Of course, it is.” Amelia said, equally matter-of-fact “Hyde Park, a dog and a romantic lunch? What else could it be?”

Honoria blinked. “Romantic lunch?”

Amelia’s amusement gave her eyes an inner light. It wasn’t an unusual sight, but it felt special. Even more, so that she chose to share this moment with honours.

“We aren’t quite there yet.”

“Oh, I’m glad.” Honoria commented, “I thought I had missed something.”

Amelia crouched down in an attempt to hide her laughter and raked her hands through the dog’s hair. He was trembling, probably still suspicious of her new owner. However bright she might seem, there was still a tension to her shoulders. Honoria could only spot it from this angle. Turn around and it’s gone. Perhaps Amelia had managed to deceive her father since Christmas with the same trick.

“Weren’t you expecting Jaggers to side with your father?” she asked, almost against her will.

Amelia’s lips twisted.

“I am not surprised,” she admitted “but I am disappointed. I had hoped...” She trailed off, eyes distant. The dog barked to get her attention and she continued to pet him.

That was one of Amelia’s problems. She hoped too much. Honoria wondered if she knew that it was not only her father that set the bar too high. She found herself relating to Arthur. The Havishams tended to add a lot of pressure to the ones they loved. She too found herself lacking in her most vulnerable moments. But then remembered the wonder on Amelia’s eyes as she gazed down at her in the half-light of dusk, waiting for a chance to bite down on Honoria’s neck as if she was a delicacy made for queens. She remembered the hungry look before they were interrupted by Jaggers. Sometimes that look was enough to make her stand. Perhaps Honoria could keep her hoping.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quick peck on her lips. She looked up, startled.

“You’re brooding.” Amelia accused. Honoria shook her head, smiling slightly.

“I was thinking I am lucky to be yours.”

“ _ Yours _ ?”

“Your girlfriend.” she clarified.

Amelia was quick to smile. “I’d wager she’ll be even luckier tonight.”

Honoria snorted. A warmth filled her chest, as if the sun itself had broken through the closed sky and, having no other helpless targets to choose from, decided to bathe her in light.

“I’ll take you up on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> “Constancy in love is a good thing; but it means nothing, and is nothing, without constancy in every kind of effort.”
> 
> ― Charles Dickens, Bleak House


	8. your velvet tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meriwether is bored. God, he's so bored.  
> Time for a new plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but this chapter got to 11K...And it wasn't even a chapter I had planned to write. But I do hope you like it!  
> Content Warning: Sexual content, homophobia, homophobic slurs, mild violence.

 

The sun was still out by the time he got home. The day’s proceedings had proven to be unfruitful, he dared to say even counter-productive to his mood. The old bitch who had professed her own wealth through expensive taste every time Meriwether visited one of his favourite spots had turned out to be nothing but a fake. After a few rounds of whisky and gin he had specifically asked the barman to water down on his case, and be generous on hers, he had found that her debts were the thing that drove her to drink in that bar at all. After making his excuses, he noticed with some horror that her stole was made of faux fur and that her dress was definitely some seasons old. He bet even the pearls were a fake.

Bitter disappointment had driven him home, hopeful to at least get some amusement from the boy.

“Arthur, dear,” he called as soon as he crossed the threshold. He had yet to catch him wanking or something equally as embarrassing, but one could hope. “You’ve been so well-behaved lately. It’s high time you were pampered.”

The boy looked up from the computer with suspicion. “Is this a way to use me to make more money?” he asked. Damn. He was becoming predictable.

“Perhaps.”

“Does this involve...shopping?” he asked as if the notion was as repulsive as attending Mass at Westminster for the sake of religious devotions.

“Yes, it involves some amount of shopping.”

“Do I have to physically go to a store?”

Meriwether tried not to snap. “Yes.”

“How many hours would it take?”

“I’d say many if you keep asking these many questions.”

Arthur paused for a few moments, probably trying to gauge the potential consequences related to Meriwether’s suggestion. ”Yes, but is it really necessary for me to go?”

“Well, how else would you pamper yourself?”

“With books and trinkets, probably.”

Meriwether spared a glance at the cactus, looking very innocent on the dining table and not at all like an endangered species.

“You can go to Venus’ after we are done.” Meriwether conceded. Arthur’s lips formed a lazy, pacified smile. Meriwether huffed, finding the fact that he had taken the pampering to be Meriwether’s and not his somewhat amusing. He stepped towards the window, opened it to the cold night breeze and took out his daily cigarette.

They had made a good amount with Arthur’s petty - and pity - theft. So much that Meriwether’s little idea grew and grew and he started to make plans for that money, disregarding of his little successes and failures as the days went by. Spring had come and with it, the hope of even more money since he was no longer half-frozen all the time and Arthur would certainly be more easily persuaded to go out.

They shared every amount they had made so far. It had not even crossed his mind to split it. It was their money, evenly shared. They kept it in a shoebox at the bottom of the closet and used it whenever necessary, for groceries and clothing. Arthur didn’t make as much money from online scams as much as he had the first month, so he was confident he would be able to drag him along more often if he guilt-tripped him into thinking he wasn’t contributing as much as he should. He realised that keeping the money like that, in sight, would present a temptation for Arthur, whose intentions seemed so scattered Meriwether could help but be wary of. It wasn’t even that he doubted that Arthur wanted to get the dirty money or that he wished to cultivate some mischievousness. Meriwether was a naturally suspicious person. He didn’t take things at face value because he himself relied on those practised first impressions to get a job done. He wasn’t naive. Arthur probably wanted to live alone and money was the single reason Meriwether could attribute to his interest in being a con man. The amount they had stolen from the Greek interpreter would have been enough to get him started.

Meriwether counted his money every morning and every night. He did it in front of the boy.

Arthur would glare, eye the money, and return to wither by their computer or whatever he was concocting by the stove. He had kept his promise of vegetables. There had been a stew, some fried concoction Meriwether had not been very fond of, and simply steamed broccoli with rice and frozen shrimp. It was amusing to think of Nancy exchanging her precious recipes with the boy. Better off, to give them outright as he was sure Arthur was unable to invent dishes just yet. It was all very domestic, and a sort of anxiety started to creep up on him as March gave way to April with minor scams and thefts.

He was getting too comfortable. He needed to invest, to make his next plans. Refresh his contact list. See if there was any potential target in the newspaper. Toss a can at an officer if that’s what it took. He hoped the shopping alone would do it.

He had spent so much time making plans for his next purchases that he nearly burned himself when Arthur tapped his shoulder.

“Dinner’s ready.” he said, eyes momentarily lost in the sunset that greeted them.

Meriwether nodded, putting off the cigarette on the bricks that lined the building’s exterior. He frowned briefly at doing so, not remembering taking another cigarette out. Closing the window made him feel instantly warmer, cosier as if he had put on a sweater. He didn’t think the flat had ever been this warm before, especially not at night. He blamed and thanked the cooking.

“I hope you’re not feeling adventurous.” he muttered, memories of citrus abuse fresh on his mind.

“No. It’s your favourite, actually.”

Meriwether settled down to eat and the pressure of the stool suddenly felt like roots and anchors and wet cement. He had a favourite now. Arthur knew his favourite, He had eaten the same thing enough times to have put above all others and had the luxury of eating at his request.

Meriwether knew two things about himself. One, that he was good at deceiving people. Two, that he was not a creature of habit.

“It looks good.” he complimented, eyeing the spaghetti and seeing the horrors of contentment lurking on the horizon.

 

* * *

 

He spared Arthur from having to actually go to the tailor. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to endure an hour of reluctant passivity and overeager sarcasm. He might snap and take it out both on the deserving boy and the poor tailor. They ended up going to a store he knew sold some retail suits and formal wear, items actively lacking in Arthur’s outfits. He knew that what they would find would be last season, thus the lower price, but if they invested on a simpler cut no-one would notice. There could be some surprising deals as well, and Meriwether shopped there often enough that he got redirected to the most appealing and worthy options on sight. He made sure to be especially nice to people who worked in customer service.

There was a general sense of satisfaction by the time they returned home in the later afternoon, tired and still blind from the extraordinarily burst of light that had bathed Whitechapel at sunset. They had gotten an assortment of white and coloured shirts from god knows when but simple and well-constructed enough to give the appearance of wealth, another five pairs of briefs and socks because there could not be enough of them, a pair of black dress pants, fabric delicate and princely but sufficiently sturdy for Arthur’s disastrous fingers, and a red jacket. The last one of these items, though garish, was one of the most beautiful garments Meriwether had ever set his eyes on, even more, enviable than the Burberry peacoat. It was a bit too snug at the waist, but nothing that would look out of place on Arthur’s slight frame. All the buttons were covered in matching fabric and the lapel was made of shiny satin that felt wonderful underneath his fingertips. As soon as they lugged the clothes on top of the sofa he ordered Arthur to dress up in the pants and jacket.

It was magnificent.

“Aren’t we the young prince,” he said, emphasising his drawl to better infuriate the boy. Arthur gave a little twirl, sarcasm apparently now able to surpass the necessity of speech. The effect was somewhat dampened by the fact that the jacket actually had a back opening that flapped with the movement. Other than making Arthur look even more aristocratic, it made perfectly clear that the only thing problematic about this get-up was the hairstyle. It looked good, but it also looked savage. Not nearly well-taken care of enough to lend the impression of good blood and a large wallet. The boy needed some hair products as well. Thankfully, Meriwether had just the thing.

“I’m going to style your hair now.”

“Fuck you.”, was the boy’s immediate response.

Meriwether simply smiled. It was his responsibility to show Arthur the light. He wouldn’t cower before such youthful gaffes.

“We’ll start with the wonders of deep conditioning,” he said, getting a terrified look from the boy. He inhaled deeply. "Your hair is a bit on the dry side which is fine because you don’t really wash it that often, but you don't want get the conditioner on your roots or it'll make your hair oily and the curls won't -"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur interjected, looking so confused he might as well be talking in Armenian, which is a language Meriwether is pretty sure hadn't entered the boy’s curriculum just yet.

“I’m talking about your hair being just as needy as you are.” he shot, getting a glare in return. He found most of them perfunctory by now. “I am only taking care of you, you know?” he added, almost kindly. “You’ve been neglecting your hair care for too long.”

Poor boy. His mother died when he was so young there was no surprise that he had not been given the talk about hair and skin care.

“Get a fucking perm.” Arthur bit back. Meriwether barked a laugh.

“I don’t know whether I should feel offended by the insult or amazed that you know what a perm is.”

The bastard wouldn’t need it either, would he, with that perfectly curled hair. The must be a way to convince him to allow Meriwether to touch his hair. For maintenance, of course. He did not want to touch that stylish mess for no other reason. It wasn’t the fucking Holy Grail.

“Go wash your hair.”

“No.”

“Go wash your hair or I swear to god I will wash it myself.”

There was a pause. “Alright.”

Meriwether half-suspected the boy said yes mainly to ward off whatever fierce look Meriwether sent his way at any given discussion. He couldn’t quite keep his temper in check when he confronted Arthur.

“Don’t forget to hold your clothes on a hamper away from the water. Condition. The blue bottle in the lower cupboard. Only on your tips. ”

Arthur rolled his eyes. As if the little bugger knew the first thing about proper care.

“I’ll know if you don’t do it. You know I will.”

“Fine!” the boy shouted, entering the bathroom and closing the door with a bang. Meriwether had half a mind to show him what shouting could lead to, but dinner was ready for heating and he had bought a journal earlier that day. His restlessness had been taken care of for the day. He could sit down for the amount of time that took Arthur to shower and understand what was happening in England. Quickly skimming the front page, he thought that the world might as well be ending in two months with talks of leaving the EU generating scary polls and scarier comments. It didn’t look very likely, whatever the likes of Farage seemed to spawn ridiculous concoctions of what it meant to be British or English. He doubted the good old racist buggers of the north would have any sort of weight in the final vote. They were mostly the elderly and the privileged that thought they didn’t require immigrant labour. Meriwether also had ridiculous hope for the Welsh. Ridiculous because he knew he’d be disappointed and doubly ridiculous because he knew he should know better than to expect anything other than conservative Welsh behaviour.

Whatever might be the result, the mentions of the Brexit struggle were so dim he quickly moved onto far more enjoyable topic like sports and of course the celebrity and gossip section. He lingered on the latter, reading the names mentioned with eagerness. There had to be something. Some high profile, some judge he had heard of, some actor he could have access to. He was bored with the small people already. He didn’t think Arthur would mind raising the bar, increasing their income. The greek guy had been the start of it. They had depleted a respectable amount of pockets already, but it had mostly meant tailing people at bars and coffee shops, alternating between himself and Arthur as the extra man. So far they hadn’t gotten as lucky as they had been with the greek one, but it was to be expected. Meriwether had found out he could easily be any nationality he set his mind to, and to have another one either as a translator or an equally helpless foreigner had made them appear vulnerable and easy to take advantage of. Which meant that it actually went backwards because men and women would let their guards down and try to help someone who was trying to deceive them. It was profitable, enjoyable in the moment, but the spark was easily gone.

He needed something new, so it was with some wonder that he recognised a name in a column dedicated to local news. Quickly checking his phone, he realised he was correct. A contact of his at the George & Vulture had sent him a very useful list of customers. There was an actor or two, three players and four politicians. He had already enjoyed going through one-third of the list. He could yet cross another name.

“Serjeant Buzfuz,” he read out loud, still to himself seeing as the brat was yet to turn the shower off “52, born in London, is to become of the newest barrister for the Queen’s Counsel after a year of no Cambridge alumni being accepted.” He stopped and smiled. Yes, that was the name that had him splutter some months ago. He had laughed for a full minute about it. Who would have known the Serjeant would be taking silk… And to throw a party whilst he’s at it, fully entering high society by having a considerate professional worth rather than relying on his apparently late parents. That’s what the newspaper said, at least.

The man seemed to be the sort of well-off character that begged to be deceived. _Born and raised in London until he was eighteen, he finished all his A-levels and went off to Cambridge to study Law_ . Meriwether could picture his fussy and proud parents pressuring him into following the family business. He was an only child as well, meaning expectations were even higher.  It would be as though he had spent his entire life building up to this moment. Meriwether could ruin it. Meriwether could also _not_ ruin it for a hefty sum.

He set down the newspaper as Arthur came out of the bathroom. His curls were still a bit moist but even from this distance he could smell the particular odour of lemongrass and juniper. He had conditioned.

“We might do something with your good breeding yet.” he said, already plotting.

 

* * *

 

They decided on entering from the kitchens. Meriwether knew one of the waiters from his wilder days when he still exclusively targeted the middle class and was yet to figure out that more money on his victim’s side eventually meant more money for him. He kept all his contacts neatly organised in a small notebook that easily fit in any of his pants and took them out whenever he needed to. Half of the black notebook was filled with the names of people he could scam as well as the ways he had thought of using for the scam. The other half had helpful numbers and addresses that included friends in high places or simply in the right place and state of mind to facilitate, say, a break-in or a controlled observation of his target with perhaps referrals to his own exemplary character as a way to ease them into trusting him. One of these last types was the one he had contacted for this situation.

Uriah Heep was a mean-spirited young man that knew better than to aid Meriwether seeing as he never saw the profit for it. He half-suspected the wretched thing complied to what he asked because he knew it would turn out badly for someone. His strongest desire was to bring misfortune to others who he thought _had it easier_ than him and it made reckless. He wasn’t stupid, not by a long chance, but his malice far outweighed his planning. _He_ had once somehow been turned into the victim on a memorable scam he had developed with Meriwether and Magwitch, instead of the intended target, all because he had found a way of adding humiliation to the situation. He should have known better than to enter the room without being signalled. They often crossed each other’s paths and had helped  avoid what could have been a collection of prickly situations. Meriwether owed him more than the man owed him back, but Uriah had backwards and Meriwether was not in a hurry to correct that assumption. The last time they had teamed up there had been a near-drowning and Meriwether had been his saviour. He fully intended to call that favour now, seeing as the man moonlighted as a waiter and worked precisely at the hotel Meriwether needed to break into.

When he met him, Arthur closely on his heels, he looked just as ugly as he had last time. His hair was still buzzed close to the skull, still hideously red, and he still looked older than Meriwether despite being twenty-four. He had taken one nasty look at Arthur and his get-up and promptly ignored him in favour of Meriwether. Which was just fine because the last thing he wanted was for him to wonder why he was now employing an eighteen-year-old in his schemes.

“Hello, Meriwether. Long time no see.”

“Uriah, my man.” Meriwether greeted, taking the hand that was offered through the backyard gates. He hoped they could move along soon. It was too damn cold for this sort of conversation.

“I hope you haven’t been arrested yet.” the slimy git said with a smirk that informed Meriwether of a  contrary desire.

“Not just yet, but I’ll be sure to mention you in case I do.”

Uriah swallowed. “Ah...So what is this about? A new scheme? Do any of the guys up there owe you money or something?”

“I trust you’ve heard about the new QC?”

Uriah nodded.

“Let’s just say his past-time frolics are something he would not enjoy being out in the open.”

Uriah looked between Arthur, who was peering at the building before him with boredom, and Meriwether, who certainly gave nothing away and he stared at the other man.

“You mean he’s one of them queers?”

Meriwether suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, a downright queer with a preference for the barely-legal,” he said, avoiding Arthur’s intense glare. Uriah did not seem to notice this and proceeded to sneer.

“Ugh, disgusting.”

 _You don’t have particularly high standards yourself_ , he thought.

“Ok, so you’re using goldilocks for blackmail material then?”

Arthur huffed. Meriwether nodded, glad for the discussion of practicalities. “Just like in Vauxhall.”, he told him. They had not used Uriah as the bait, of course, but Meriwether. The old hag had not even protested when they asked her for the money. She had given it freely to Meriwether as if she was in the habit of purchasing young men and he had felt silly about overthinking a simple play. At the time, however, he had been glad as the photographs Uriah had taken were all but useless. They had come out all blurry. He’d only used him as a facilitator onwards. Meriwether was taking the pictures himself this time. He didn’t know if Arthur knew how to properly take photos either.

“You’ll be wanting to keep track of fairy boy here, then.” Uriah continued, enjoying the noise of protest coming from Arthur “I have some clothes for you, but once you’re in the Halls you’re on your own.”

“What about the room?”

“Fourth. Room 46.”

“Do you have a key?”

“What do you take me for?” he shot back, reaching for his pocket and removing a card. “It makes an awful lot of noise, though. You might be better off not closing the door at all.”

Meriwether nodded but otherwise accepted it. “What about the clothes?”

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Uriah sneered “Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to let Velvet here seduce the geezer. You know how these parties are. Give them a chance to indulge and they’re just like us, eating until they’re bursting out of their dresses or whatever.”

Meriwether refrained from using the card’s chord as a choker. He was surprised at Arthur’s show of restraint as Uriah opened the gate for them. He’d have dolloped the man that called him any of those names. Uriah, much as he thought him uncouth and a snivelling weakling, was a necessary evil. He appreciated his usable mindless scheming and Uriah would be able to ease their escape if things went wrong.

The gate closed with a rusty whine and the three followed the hidden path towards the Hotel’s back door, where they were met with a grumpy-looking guard. He paid the extra two guests no attention, however, and kept looking at the street. As they entered the corridor that led to the kitchens, Uriah reached for a cupboard and removed a set of black and white garments. Meriwether set off with them towards the staff bathroom, followed closely by Arthur seeing as the boy did not want to be alone with Uriah. He could not blame him.

“That guy doesn’t know you’re bisexual,” Arthur said once Meriwether got started on his pants. At least Uriah had remembered his size. God knew he had _borrowed_ Meriwether’s clothes enough times for that.

“I am pansexual, Arthur. Aren’t you the Greek expert? Pan means _all_ . Attracted to _all_ sorts of people and genders.” He had looked it up on a dusty old dictionary back when he was growing up and settled with _bisexual_. When he had heard it enough times from different enough people that he was sure it was a thing, he had found the pansexual label more comfortable. “Honestly, Arthur, I’d thought you'd be more more tactful and considerate of other people’s sexual orientations.”

“Alright, alright!” the boy exclaimed with some dismay. Whether at the thought of _several_ genders or simply at his avoidance, he was unsure.

“I didn’t know that. But don’t change the subject. Why doesn’t he know?”

Meriwether baulked at the boy’s sheer stupidity. “Because he’s the sort of people that will stop helping me if he does.”

“What, so you’re hiding?”

Meriwether sighed. “Look, Arthur, just because I don’t feel the need to scream my sexual orientation whenever I meet someone doesn’t mean I’m ashamed of it. I need this disgusting creature for my business purpose. Who I fuck might be a problem _if_ he finds out about it, but I assure you he doesn’t want to know and that I only care about what he knows to the extent that it affects our business relationship.” He paused and thought about refraining further comment but because he liked to see Arthur ruffled and bothered, he continued. “Just like your big sister and her bestie doing it on your father’s back doesn’t mean it’s important or relevant for him to know. Unless they get caught.” At which point he might consider moving away so they cannot track him and demand shelter. His history with the Havishams was alarming.

Arthur blinked and it took him a long moment to find his voice again. “What, right now?”

“What?”

“They’re having sex right now?”

Meriwether rolled his eyes whilst he tied his shoelaces, something that shouldn’t be as hard as it turned out to be. “How would I know if they’re having sex at this exact moment?”

“No, it’s just. I.” he broke off, frowning, “I thought they hadn’t done it, at least not in the house. Why didn’t Amelia say anything?”

“And admit that she doesn’t want to find out if the situation that kicked you out of the house would have the same effect on her?”

Arthur had no answer to that and it was his sudden lethargy that reminded him that he had still to put the shirt on.

“Don’t be like that. She’s watching out for her own back like I’m watching out for mine. What Uriah doesn’t know won’t make me punch him. What your father doesn’t know won’t make Amelia rebel or do something that will get her and her friend on the streets.”

Arthur huffed, clearly affronted by the notion that his sister would be afraid of anything at all.

“Let’s go,” Meriwether called, hitting Arthur on the shoulder on his way out. He couldn’t have him dive into another one of his moods.

Arthur followed, frown becoming more pronounced as he noticed Uriah waiting for them.

“Blondie should go first,” he told them “then you’ll come out when we start with the second round of appetisers. It’s a buffet but we’ll only bring out the other stuff after ten.”

Meriwether nodded, relieved at having at least one part of the planning out of his hands. He could trust Uriah with this, he had worked in catering all his life. They had met because of it too, though it was Meriwether’s hiding in a kitchen after a spectacularly disastrous attempt at a date that prompted it on.

Arthur turned to him, opened his mouth to tell him something, but thought better and turned away.

“Good luck.” he found himself saying. Arthur looked back at him with some amount of astonishment before giving him a small, nervous smile.

He watched Arthur go up the stairs with some amount of longing and leant against the wall.  With him gone, he was sure that Uriah would want to _catch up_. He shuddered as the man reclined against a furniture of some kind and observed him for a few minutes. He tried to ignore him, knowing that he should take advantage of the moment to start the conversation himself and steer it towards whatever direction he so wished.

“You seemed different,” Uriah said after a while, arranging an aubergine salad that waited to be taken upstairs. Meriwether glanced at him, then at the remaining help. Most of them had already gone up with the starters but they’d be coming down anytime soon to keep the food flowing. The kitchens smelled divine, and he hadn’t eaten in a few hours. Arthur would be luckier and he could already picture the boy flitting from a server to server, avoiding his target like the plague and trying to build up the necessary courage to approach it. It was interesting, watching him. _Different_ from what he was used to. He just hoped it worked.

“What do you mean?” he asked, a way of telling him to shut up and take care of his actual job.

Uriah shrugged. “I don’t know. You haven’t insulted me yet.” Meriwether couldn’t remember if he had. “You’re friends with that queer.”

Meriwether let that sentence settle, for his own sake. “What makes you think we’re friends? He’s my business associate, just like you.”

Uriah raised his very thin eyebrows. “You seem chummy enough.”

“If you have something to say it’s probably for the best if you say it _before_ we go up.”

There was a moment in which neither spoke and the last one of Uriah’s colleagues filed out from the kitchen. It seemed that was all that Uriah had been waiting for to stop hissing and confront Meriwether with whatever it was that troubled that little brain of his.

“Alright, why did you partner up with that poof?”

Meriwether saw red for a blinding moment and the next thing he knew he had his hand Uriah’s throat. Uriah struggled to catch his breath, caught unprepared for the assault. Giving their history, it was a dangerous behaviour. He could remember bones crunching under fist. Uriah’s nose didn’t use to be this crooked, he remembered now.

“For starters, he isn’t a little bitch like you.” he hissed, feeling Uriah’s breath hitch uncomfortably close to his ear “He is my partner because, unlike you, he can actually attract people and not scare them off. Unlike you, you bigoted meerkat, he isn’t stupid enough to start shouting about _plans_ and _geezers_ in the middle of the workplace. Are you actually so stupid that you don’t think that security guard outside is going to blackmail _you_ for his silence?”

Uriah’s terrified silence told him as much. Good fucking luck with that. He tightened the hold around his throat. What was it with people thinking he was more fond of them than he truly was?

“Also, since you’re being so fucking talkative today, what do you think about going to the Yard and tell them about that little robbery in Whitehall? You didn’t think I knew about that one, did you? What about that break in back in February? And that shop in at Christmas? Or should we go back to the start and unwind everything since you came from up north? The true reason you’ve gotten into catering?” he paused again, waiting for the man to come to his senses and agree “I bet you have a _really_ long history.”

Uriah had spluttered throughout Meriwether’s little speech but, as predictable, had nothing to say once he was done. Meriwether had learned to cover his tracks well. Uriah hadn’t, and his looks didn’t help either.

“No? Pity. I’d _love_ to see you squeal.” he said, levelling his voice “You see, Uriah, I don’t care if you get hit by a bus or go to prison for life. It’s none of your business who I work, fuck or am friends with.  I don’t need you as a partner. You’ve lost your purpose to me.”

Uriah seemed even more greenish around the gills, but he complied. Once he was sure of the man’s pliancy, he released him with and ignored the glower sent his way. He supposed he _had_ been rough, but he had lost it at the word _poof_. Not because it had been thrown his way - he had gotten used to it a long time ago - but because it had been about Arthur, who might deserve many things - most of them already brought forward by Meriwether - but never to be badmouthed by Uriah Heep.

A bit more subdued, Uriah told him it was their time to take the trays upstairs. Meriwether did as much, trays balanced on both hands bringing him back to a simpler time in which it was only theft that he had his eyes on. He and was surprised at the contained luxury of the main hall to which the staff stairs directly led to. The floor was made of marble as well as the bannisters that faced the ballroom, mottled pink and white. There were veins of gold in the furniture that adorned the room, slim and dark against the brightness of the walls. He knew this hotel was particularly sought after because of its ballroom, unique in the UK. Countless charity events and elite gathering had been held out here and it had a fame of having been privy to the nation’s most stylish parties. Even now, among the quiet and non-descript servers that flitted around the room, stood several individuals proper and elegant outfits that must have cost a fortune. He had once attended one of this events as an escort to a rich middle-aged lady whose money he had earned fair and square by getting underneath her dress in a bathroom stall and going down on her until she came with a splatter of champagne. Nineteen at the time, these sort of things had still presented him with an inordinate amount of excitement.

Even now he could remember her comments about who was _in_ or not, depending on their outfits. As he got closer to some of the guests - hoping none of them had been past acquaintances - he took extra care to notice the trends. The ladies’ were obvious enough, with matching colours that made them dependable on the originality of the dresses’ design to stand out amongst their peers. There were several Louboutin tapping around the marble floor, many wore Chanel and Valentino as their _pièce de résistance_ and he caught the scent of Dior in different sections of the ballroom. Those were the trends. His breath caught at the sight of a tartan red McQueen but then he remembered Sally and proceeded to avoid that particular area.

The men were the most boring, of course. Seeing as this was a barrister party, of all things, he was not surprised that they ran across the full spectrum of available black with the grand total of two tones - charcoal and jet black. Most of the shoe wear consisted of cap-toe oxfords that looked predictably conservative and utterly boring.

Canapés and cocktails were being distributed, handled with care by the nervous-looking servants and delicacy by the guest. Most of them seemed to be used to these sort of events, handling the social niceties with grace and the sort of confidence that came from a well-stuffed bank account.

“Oh how wonderful it is that weather has finally improved.” one of the Louboutin ladies said, looking a bit too _English_ for both Chanel - the dress - and Dior - the perfume. “Yes, of course, my Harry is very happy for him. They went to school together, you see. Very close friends.”

Meriwether eyed the room for any sign of Buzfuz and found him by the side of a waiter stationed at the bar for the want of specific cocktails and drinks. The newest QC seemed very happy with himself, increasingly red and with a large circle around him, listening to whatever story he had probably exaggerated from his golden days back at Cambridge. There was something about a speech, a little jab at the host’s ineptitude of doing so.

The barman gave him a weird look as he scuttled off to the side. Ignoring him, Meriwether tried to place that familiar - no longer untidy - hair. When he was unsuccessful in doing so, he decided to listen in to the conversation. Decked in his server’s garb, no one noticed him at all.

“It’s like I said, Serj,” continued a man with a hideous striped tie “this is all very well but I’m afraid I’ll spill anything over the ladies.”

“At least there are no white dresses.” another man joked, nursing a generous glass of whisky.

“There wouldn’t be, what with their wrinkles,” Buzfuz muttered. There was silence before the whole lot started laughing. Meriwether thought they wouldn’t be laughing so hard if they noticed their own hairlines.

“So no chance of you settling down?”

The unfortunately named host turned bashful. “I wouldn’t say that, _exactly._ ”

Meriwether snorted at that but otherwise showed no reaction. The handful of men around him showed no such restraint, readily asking for the lucky woman’s name and profession if she was in the room. Meriwether guessed her profession to be of the bearded nature but was amused at the information that trickled - quite unwillingly - from the host’s mouth. Blonde, in her twenties, in Public Relations at a company. He was surprised that it wasn’t a model the one he had chosen to place under the public eye, but he guessed someone more intellectual would be the _proper_ thing to do.

He tuned out the rest of the conversation, having heard quite enough of their jabs and overall weak attempts at humour, and focused on finding Arthur. Two minutes into his search and he finally found him in the middle of the ballroom by the side of a woman wearing red, old enough to be his grandmother. They looked like they were family, matching jacket and dress. He went that way, waltzing around the throng of people.

“Some smoked trout and garlic cream on rye toast, madam?” he asked, leaning the tray ever slightly towards the straight-backed woman who had been spouting some nonsense about some tea parlour going to the dogs. She lifted an eyebrow, clearly irritated at having been interrupted, but picked a rye toast anyway. Arthur stared at him with wide eyes, clearly overwhelmed by the vitriol of the old lady’s speech. Meriwether inclined his head towards the ballroom’s entrance, gave a bow, and headed there himself. He heard the boy speak before the woman got the chance to, make his excuses, and follow him.

The hid behind a pillar.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked. Arthur was flushed. Whether from the heat of the velvet jacket or whatever drink he held in his hand, he was not sure.

“Four different people flirted with me!” he exclaimed as softly as he could. It came out as more of a hiss than anything, really, but he appreciated the thought.

“And you seem terribly upset.”

“Of course I'm upset!” Arthur cried out, gulping down the rest of his drink. “They were all over forty!” Meriwether hoped it was simply champagne or something equally as mild.

“It wasn’t as if the guys we’ve been picking up were very young either,” Meriwether commented, only to be drawn to the glass on Arthur’s fingers again.

“Yeah, but these ones were women!”

Meriwether tried not to laugh. He failed but thankfully did it quietly enough not to draw any unwarranted attention.

“Have you seen him?”

Arthur nodded. “He’s a bit red-faced.”

“He’s a lawyer.”

“A barrister.” Arthur corrected “And lawyers don’t look half-bad. Jaggers is pretty hot.”

“Was he your first crush, Arthur darling?”

“Yes.”

Meriwether was surprised at the sincerity of the answer. He had heard the solicitor's name before, of course, but had dismissed him as a secondary player in his game. There was only so much of law-oriented people he could endure, after all, and he had already been seeing a judge at the time.

“Now I’m picturing some good old spanking in a dusty office.”

That got Arthur to laugh, and the sight of the carefree, young expression on his face was enough to bring him to their current affair.

“Old Buzfuz is marrying soon, it seems.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Does this mean he’s not actually, you know, gay?”

“I’m pretty sure he is. He’s just hiding. What it does mean, however, is that we can blackmail him not with just publishing but with his fiancée as well.”

The boy blinked but said nothing else.

“I think there’s going to be a speech of some sort around eleven and the party will probably start to dwindle after that. I think you should talk to him as soon as the last guest leaves.”

Arthur nodded, biting his lip slightly. “But how do I get him somewhere private.”

“The _how_ is up to you.” Meriwether told him “But I heard he's staying for the night. The room would be a perfect setting, don’t you think?”

Something shifted in the boy’s eyes as he steeled himself to what was to come. His shoulders seemed to hold themselves straighter, he seemed to grow in height, and his face showed, for the first time since they had talked in the bathroom about being partners, a great deal of determination. Meriwether was glad that he was taking it seriously because this one depended on him the most. He wouldn’t be able to come to the rescue, nor to ease the way.

The seriousness of the look broke a fraction when Arthur reached into the tray and removed two of the miniatures in its surface. Meriwether noticed that he now needed to restock, but it’d mean probably encountering Uriah again and asking about the procedures.

“Might as well enjoy the free food.” the boy said as an explanation, then moving away with a strut that would surely get another four attempts at flirting. He left the empty glass on the tray.

Meriwether paused, looking at Arthur’s back with growing curiosity. He couldn’t remember a single time he had seen the boy drink since he had come back to the flat after a hard day’s partying drunk and high enough for a row. He was sure there was a reason behind that and he would find it out.

After he came back with a replenished tray that Uriah himself plated up without his asking, he set out to hear the conversations. They were all dreadfully boring and he was considering going out for a smoke when the clink of glass tore through the party’s peaceful mingling. Meriwether was pleased as the host gathered everyone’s attention to himself and said a few choice words about the start of an era - unlikely if one considered the odds of a heart attack in stressful jobs - and the honour of being one of the few accepted - false, since the number of people taking silk this year was actually higher than the previous ones. The crowd cheered at the man’s efforts at eloquence, something that apparently only ever came to him in the courtroom if his friends’ comment had any ounce of truth. He ended with a toast to the Queen - again, predictable, and plopped down to his friends’ side with relief. Their plan would soon come to fruition.

Two hours later, stomachs full and minds appeased with their own self-importance after a successful night of marketing their own image, there were but a dozen guests in the ballroom, most of them Buzfuz’s friends from the bar. And even them seemed to be near to falling asleep on the QC’s shoulder. Arthur was nowhere to be seen and, for a brief moment, Meriwether panicked. He couldn’t have given up after so much planning, could he?

Then, a flash of red overhead and he noticed the boy hovering by the end of the bannister, worrying a finger on his lips. So he was waiting.

Meriwether hid behind a pillar as soon as the last guests filtered out of the ballroom, and observed the host, He was well and truly knackered. It would be an easy target, even if Arthur tripped over himself. That was part of his charm, after all.

He watched as the man climbed up the stairs, wobbling slightly, and observed Arthur placing himself right above Meriwether on the first floor, in the passage that led to the other rooms. Smart boy. From this angle he’d be able to hear the conversation without the danger of being heard himself, to see everything without being seen.

He noticed the moment Buzfuz noticed Arthur by the hitching of his breath, unnaturally loud in the empty space.

“Hey, aren’t you the barrister?” Arthur asked, voice light “The one that got into the Queen’s Counsel?”

The man preened. “Yes.”

“I’ve heard that those in Queen’s Council only wear silk. Is that true?”

The man seemed to find the remark amusing. “It is.”

Arthur guffawed. “What, even your knickers?”

Meriwether cringed. Well, at least the boy was direct.

“Surely not that.”

“Can I see them?”

“What? My knickers?”

“Yes. Just to check. And stuff.”

The man’s laughter faltered and Meriwether was able to pinpoint the moment he considered what _stuff_ could mean. “Do I know you?”

“Hardly. I spend all my time in Greece.”

“Athens?”

“Mykonos.”

“Never been.” the man said, seemingly uninterested in a place that had not been touched by his greatness. Still, Arthur trudged on. His efforts were commendable.

“The buildings are mostly white and you can see the sea everywhere. Blue as far as the eye can reach! There are beaches and windmills with white sails. The food is really good, it’s amazing for a long holiday. Gets real lonely during the year.”

He had lost him, and Arthur knew it. There was an awkward moment in which the boy sipped at another drink - he seemed to be drinking a lot - and glanced at the man. Their eyes met halfway and Arthur bit his bottom lip. The man followed the movement, and even from this distance, Meriwether could tell he wanted to step closer.

“It’s full of attractive specimens as well,” he added, leaning in a manner that left no doubt to what type of specimens he was referring to. The barrister blinked and took a long look around the room. Appeased at the lack of results, he turned back to Arthur. The ambaric drink sloshed around on his glass.

“Indeed? Perhaps I should visit.”

Arthur blinked slowly and gave the man a cat-like smile. “My family has a lovely house on the shore. My family would be delighted to host an important person such as yourself.”

Ah, to be young and irresistible.

“So you weren’t joking about the knickers.” the barrister said, finally giving in and touching the back of the boy’s hand.

“I’m a _very_ curious person.”

“Are you curious enough to come to my room?”

Arthur flashed him a grin in lieu of an answer and off them went along the corridor. Meriwether rushed up the bannister and towards the lift, who had already gone up. Checking his phone, he waited five minutes before taking it himself. The fourth floor was empty and there it was, the appointed room just ahead. He took out his key just in case, but the door wasn’t locked. The boy _had_ listened.

Taking off his shoes to avoid further noise, he listened for any strange sounds but there was only heavy breathing and moaning coming from the main suite. The small entryway he currently occupied had only one table, cluttered with keys and cigarettes - another reason for the _era_ comment being wrong - and a hamper with a heavy trenchcoat hanging from it. Shrugging and checking for any other noises, he proceeded to check the pockets and find a moderately profitable wallet. He grinned. This was his lucky day.

Now, one hundred pounds richer, he felt ready to face whatever Arthur was currently doing to the poor old chap. Peeking through the tiny space left by the slightly opened door - Arthur’s work, no doubt - he felt his throat go dry.

Arthur and the man were kissing, and that was normal enough. What wasn’t normal was for the boy to be so _aggressive_ about it.

The QC did not seem to mind as Arthur nipped at his ear and scratched down his back, quickly making work of the fabric and throwing it to the nearby bed.  He didn’t seem to mind as Arthur bit his neck and shoved his hand down his trousers. He _especially_ didn’t mind the little tugs that followed.

“Do you like this?” Arthur asked, already knowing the answer. The man gave a sort of keening noise, increased when the boy dragged the hand down his pants towards his mouth, gently but firmly prying it open with his fingers.

“Suck it.” he commanded.

It took him a while to remember to take the photos. By the time he did so, Arthur had shifted them both to prevent the man from noticing the intruder.

From this new angle, Meriwether had a perfect view of Arthur kissing the man, fingers now leaving a  wet trail down the man’s torso, unexpectedly fit for a fifty-year-old. As he took photo after photo, the boy opened his eyes to stare straight at Meriwether. A jolt not unlike the one he had felt at the bar with the Greek man ran across him. Arthur blinked slowly, lips dragging across the man’s neck. He knew what it was, of course. He had bottled it up as a potion he could use on his targets. Lust, desire. Whatever he called it, it meant trouble.

He was broken out of his reverie by the target moaning loudly. Arthur then put his hands on his chest and pushed him down to the bed even as he went down with him, kissing every readily available inch of skin. He didn’t need to break the contact between them and Meriwether wondered, for the first time, just how many men Arthur had slept with. He surely had not been this confident back in December. How many cocks had he needed to touch to become such a sex _savant_?

His true purpose was shown as he shoved the man’s trousers down to the floor and cupped him through the underwear.

“Pity,” he said with a sly grin “they’re not silk.”

The man threw an arm across his eyes to try and muffle his laughter but was unable to as Arthur starter stroking him through the decidedly not silky underwear. Meriwether took his chance to enter as swiftly as he could. Arthur noticed, freeing the man’s cock from his underpants and providing the aesthetically appealing view of the QC’s debauchment by a clearly male youth. Oh, the scandal! The headlines and the money!

Meriwether was frantic in his photo taking and the amount of time Arthur spent just stroking the man’s length must have seemed strange in light of the previous intensity because he eventually removed his arm and found the stranger in his room.

Not even Arthur’s loving fingers seemed to be enticing enough for him to ignore the newest development and the man jumped without a second thought to the boy at his feet.

“What-” he spluttered, looking quickly between the phone, Arthur and Meriwether. He seemed to have understood, and spun around to the boy, who no longer seemed fierce but somewhat frightened. As he made to grab the boy to inflict whatever he had thought adequate in his rage, however, he found himself hurled to the bad again by Meriwether. Much as he struggled, Meriwether was clearly the stronger man and an arm across his trachea seemed to have to the desired effect of shutting him up.

“Hello, Mr Silk.” he bit, relishing in applying pressure to the man’s throat. He spared a look at Arthur, who seemed fine but also rather surprised that the man had thought to fight back at all. There was some reason behind Meriwether’s  presence, after all. Not just the photo-taking.

“Congratulations on your promotion. We have a lot to talk about.”

 

* * *

 

Meriwether didn’t know how they got home. By the time they had managed to have a check in their hands - a threat of leaking the photos if the check bounced - and exited the tension in the room towards the hotel’s kitchen it was nearly three in the morning and Uriah had already made himself scarce. _Good riddance_ , he had thought, and cheered internally for another nearly useless contact already broken.

He remembered feeling triumphant, still a bit fuzzy from something he had poured himself, courtesy of the hotel room’s liquor cabinet as he explained to the raging man how things should work to provide minimal damage. He remembered Arthur putting his jacket back on only after they had reached the street, cold night air hitting his face and making him scowl. He recalled having the sudden urge to laugh and doing so to a startled Arthur, who just snorted and looked very pleased himself.

He didn’t remember the walk to their flat, only the wobble of the tube and green light shining on Arthur’s face, the touch of the velvet whenever he accidentally brushed against it. He surely didn’t remember pouring himself another drink, but here he was now, sitting at home with a tumbler of brandy in his hand and an inexplicable grin on his face.

“That,” he told Arthur as he sat by his side with his glass, only filled with water “was amazing. I can’t believe you had the nerve to ask him about his knickers!” He might be a bit too drunk, but fuck it if it wasn’t true.

Arthur smiled back with more bashfulness than he had displayed with the man.

“It was amazing.” he agreed, leaving it at that. Meriwether thought of nails and teeth and the assurance of his hands as he had made the man lie down. He swallowed.

“I think he might have liked to have seen some action between us two.” he found himself saying. The man had still been turned on by the time they left, cock tucked it but still noticeably hard underneath his pants. Clearly being manhandled by a crook and hauled to the bed was something he wasn’t objectionable to.

“I think you might have liked it yourself.” Arthur shot back, a knowing glint in his eyes.

So the boy _had_ noticed.

Meriwether shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no if it got us more money.”

“The man was fit. Why didn’t you suggest it?”

“I’m afraid it would be a bit too much action for a single day.” he replied, not mentioning Uriah’s insults or how he’d stood on his feet for over five hours, serving people he despised on principle alone, fantastic outfits notwithstanding. He didn’t mention how his body had been set aflame by seeing their positions reversed, Arthur as the decisive Queen and Meriwether as the voyeuristic Rook. How his blood had boiled as a stranger raised his hand to Arthur and he’d acted out of instinct as he hurled him to the bed. How the feeling had not left, how it even now rested unsettled in his chest.

“You were drinking at the hotel.” he continued, wishing for his mind to move on.

“Yes.” Arthur replied, splaying his hands on the table “I don’t feel like drinking anymore.”

Meriwether thought again of stale breaths and smelly clothes, of dirty hair and wild eyes.

“You should have one now.” he suggested, pointing to the bottle on the table “You deserve it.”

Arthur’s brief smile was devoid of any humour. “Thank you but no.”

There was a long pause.

“Why won’t you accept my drinks anymore?”

“You would give me brandy.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” As far as he could tell the boy liked that drink.

Arthur bit his lip, looked at the offending bottle, then down at his hands. “It’s the drink you offered me when we first had sex.”

He remembered. It bothered him that he did. It had been the bloody brandy that had motivated the first row they got into,  all those months ago. The first thing illegality he had commanded the boy to do. How funny it was that Arthur now did those willingly now but refused the drink.

“It’s the one I’m offering you now.”

Arthur looked up and frowned. “But we’re not having sex.”

“Good observational skills.”

“No, I-” he started, looking anywhere but Meriwether, “I meant that just because we’re working together now does not mean we have to _sleep_ with each other.”

“You wanted to be my partner. I don’t have the habit of sleeping with my partners.”

Arthur blinked, clearly surprised. “You don’t?”

He sounded, however, disappointed.

“It’s just business.”

Arthur nodded and excused himself to the bathroom. Meriwether downed the remains of the drink in one go, undressed and crawled over the sheets. He considered the flash of want at the hotel room. He considered the hefty sum. He considered Arthur’s immaculate posture throughout the party. He considered the thrill of having a man’s neck underneath his fingers, and then underneath his forearm. He was hard from that alone.

Arthur came back, turned the lights off and flopped down on the sofa, having the foresight to removed the velvet wonder before he did so. Meriwether settled in, intending to sleep. It went as well as he had expected it to and by the time five in the morning rolled around and the sky was getting visibly brighter, he was getting a bit desperate. All he could see was velvet and necks and teeth nipping flesh.

He had thought he was alone in his misery, but there was movement coming from the sofa from around half past four, equally restless and with seemingly no end in sight. By the time Arthur had turned twenty times in the cramped space, Meriwether decided he had had enough.

“Stop that.” he warned.

Arthur stilled and half-turned towards Meriwether. “I can’t fall asleep.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Meriwether replied, feeling his voice drag with sleep that his traitorous mind did not want to surrender to.

They spent a few moments like that, in silence, before the boy suddenly jumped and snuck into Meriwether’s bed, shoving him towards the wall in order to find some room. He allowed it, curious to see what had brought it on.

“Guilty conscience, Arthur?”

Arthur’s reply was muffled from underneath the sheets.

“You have to speak up because I don’t speak Arthur at this time of the night.” he said irritably “Or day, I’m not sure anymore.”

When he started to speak, it was low enough that Meriwether struggled to catch a word in the silence of the flat. The warm breath by his side tickled his nose but didn’t smell too terribly, so Meriwether leant closer.

“I shouldn’t even tell you this. You’ll mock me.”

“Then you shouldn’t be speaking at all.” was Meriwether smooth, equally low reply.

“It’s terrible and I shouldn’t feel this way because I am only doing a job and it’s only money and it’s not even a real profession.” Arthur complained, hands clenching and unclenching the sheets.

“I’m pretty sure the definition of profession is any vocation or business so I’d say being a con man is actually a real profession.”

“You’re the expert,” Arthur deferred, worrying the tip of the sheet between his hands “I was just brought into this world without knowing what would happen.”

Meriwether leant on one elbow and observed the boy. “That might have been true once when you had nowhere to go. You could have gone to your cousin after you’ve made your peace with him. But you _asked_ me for this. I delivered.” he paused, relishing now that Arthur’s full attention was on him. He wished that the boy would go to sleep and not complicate matters further. It had been brilliant, they had both agreed. Couldn’t they just leave it at that, morals be damned?

“That’s the problem.” Arthur said, worried eyes a bit too bright under the slow dawn “I wanted to prove myself to you and to feel like I could do anything.”

So that had been the boy’s purpose. He had expected something of the sort, what with his sister showing up with her Havisham efficiency and basically being a role model for Arthur. He couldn’t see how she’d be proud of her brother’s situation, but felt flattered that the boy wanted to show _him_ what he could do. Meriwether didn’t know what the problem was, then, when he had clearly managed all that.

“Is it such a hideous thing, to take advantage of people like you once were?” he asked, fully expecting Arthur to go into one of his moods. When no change overcame his features other than the slightest frown, he relaxed.

“I like it.”

It was so softly spoken that Meriwether thought he had misheard. “What?”

Arthur looked at him.

“I like it.” he repeated, immediately closing his eyes in regret as if it was an unspeakable secret. There was a moment in which he seemed to struggle to say something else and then his face morphed with awe. “The seduction, the chase. The blackmail.” Arthur paused, bit his lip again. “I feel wicked.”

Something stuttered in Meriwether’s chest, unwinding the tension that had coiled inside him from the moment Uriah had cornered him outside the kitchens and asked an unfortunate question. He blinked at Arthur in the darkness, listened to the catch in his breath, eyes involuntarily dragged to the shape of his mouth, and threw caution to the wind. He kissed him, and this time, he wasn’t shunned. When he broke free, Arthur looked at him in shock.

“We’re not having sex.” he said in a daze. Meriwether wondered if the boy thought that repeating it would make it so if it was a jinx against a future weakness. He wondered if the boy knew that sex between them was growing to become not a possibility but an eventuality.

“A kiss isn’t sex, Arthur.”

The boy frowned even as he led his hands to Meriwether’s face and Meriwether thought he was allowed to kiss it away now, so he did. It was alright, even with Arthur not knowing it yet. Meriwether was fine with this, Arthur leaning on top of him as if he had been looking forward to this moment as much as Meriwether had, kissing him as if he too had found the tension too strong.

There had been spilt champagne and ripped buttons underneath those fingertips, the stench of arousal too offensive for the respectable venue. Meriwether had seen that scene with his own eyes, and it was with some unpleasantness that marred the tentative touches of Arthur’s hands on his shoulders that he realised he had been near-sighted. He had not even once considered the way he must have looked in Arthur’s eyes, or the way it would have been adequate to present himself. He had simply looked, stunned, as Arthur ravished the man. Arthur had looked back and enticed him.

“You bastard…” he muttered against soft lips.

Arthur wasn’t wicked. He was wild. Meriwether felt wild himself, reaching for the boy above him, pulling him down to the sheets and trying to recall what he liked, what he had seduced him with all those months before when he had been a blushing mess with bright eyes.

But the boy was _sweet_ now. When he had kissed the other man, he had done so fiercely, with teeth and saliva and nails running down his torso. He had pried the man’s legs open by thumbing his thighs and whispering in his ear, voice too low for Meriwether to hear. Now he kissed carefully as if he was inexperienced in the matter. As if Meriwether was the wilting flower here and he did not bed different people on a weekly basis. He tried to correct this oversight and opened his mouth to take what he wanted only to be thwarted by Arthur who, by sliding his lips to the side and pecking his jaw, effectively left Meriwether to mouth awkwardly at his skin. Meriwether blinked with want as Arthur raised himself with a far too innocent grin.

He was determined to break that sweetness. Sliding his hand around the boy’s neck, he brought him down to meet his mouth again. His other hand strayed to the hem of the boy’s shirt, teasing the area around the bellybutton he had often played with. Just then, something seemed to shift and Arthur’s wariness flipped. His breath hitched just _so_ and there was no innocence in the action when he reciprocated the slide of Meriwether’s tongue. Meriwether tried not to grin as it would have been the one thing that would bring Arthur’s compliance to a stop.

There was an edge to Arthur, as if his caution hid an incoming bite. It kept Meriwether on his toes, made him wish that he would snap already.

Arthur was the first one to break, and he didn’t seem to mind the snogging anymore. If anything, it seemed as though they had been doing it all this time. As if it had been _his_ idea. “Did you notice how hard he was when I held him down?”

Meriwether gulped and as he did so, he found his Adam’s apple being nipped. He gasped, letting it trail into a moan.

“I did that.” Arthur said, failing to wipe the grin off his face “I was in control.”

Meriwether found it hard to breathe. “Yes,” he told Arthur “You were.” _You are._

“He was pretty disgusting, though.” Arthur whispered in his ear, licking the outer shell. He had forgotten about the boy’s creativity.

“Not at all like me, then.” he said, letting his hand venture under Arthur’s shirt, up and around his torso, feeling the soft skin he hardly remembered. He was resolved to change that. Change was always good. Change brought Arthur to gasp in the silence of the flat, hips grinding down on Meriwether as if it were perfectly normal for them to hump against each other like animals at dawn.

“I feel dirty.”

“I’ll wipe it off you.” he said, removing Arthur’s shirt and discarding it in the general direction of the sofa. Arthur nearly glowed in the semi-darkness, pale skin silky under Meriwether’s rougher thumbs. He looked up, drinking in the sight of Arthur straddling and a flush that seemed to creep from his face downwards, as if his entire body was alight. Meriwether could relate to that.

As he made to remove his pyjama pants, however, he was stopped by a delicate hand.

“No,” he clearly enunciated “please.”

Meriwether felt affronted for a full second - as if he’d ever force anything he could gently pry from others - before letting both hands circle the boy’s slight waist and rub the sensitive spots he knew lied there. Arthur let out an involuntary moan and arched, exposing his throat to Meriwether. Never lazy and especially so in these situations, he used one hand to propel himself up and glue his chest against Arthur’s. The boy snuck his hand underneath Meriwether’s sweater, on the small of his back, Their erections, unfortunately, trapped underneath the thin fabric of the pyjama pants, dragged over each other. Meriwether saw sparks. Arthur laughed.

His knowing glint returned, but he didn’t touch Meriwether with his hands again. There was only the slow grind. It wasn’t quite sex like he wanted. It wasn’t quite a friendly snog either. Maybe that was what Meriwether found so erotic. The unfamiliarity of it all. Whatever knowledge he got from his hands on the boy’s body now wouldn’t be the same as when they first had sex. It was new, exciting.

Knowing perfectly well he’d be coming in his pyjama pants like an awkward teenager very soon, he couldn’t help but wonder why he had feared that surge of want so much in the first place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> George and Vulture - The George and Vulture is a pub in London that was built in 1748. There has been an inn on the site, which is off Lombard Street in the historic City of London district, since 1268. It was said to be a meeting place of the notorious Hell-Fire Club and is now a revered City chop house. It is mentioned at least 20 times in The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens, who frequently drank there himself. (source: wikipedia)
> 
> Queen’s Counsel - Queen's Counsel (postnominal QC), or King's Counsel (postnominal KC) during the reign of a King, are particularly eminent lawyers, mostly barristers, who are appointed by letters patent to be one of "Her Majesty's Counsel learned in the law." The term is also recognised as an honorific. As members wear silk gowns of a particular design (see court dress), the award of Queen's Counsel is known informally as taking silk, and hence QCs are often colloquially called silks. (source: wikipedia)
> 
> Uriah Heep - A character in David Copperfield. The character is notable for his cloying humility, obsequiousness, and insincerity. (source: wikipedia)
> 
> Buzfuz, Serjeant - A character in The Pickwick Papers. A Barrister who represents Mrs. Bardell in her suit against Samuel Pickwick. He bullies the witnesses into giving incriminating testimony and Pickwick is falsely convicted. (source: wikipedia)

**Author's Note:**

> Your support and comments mean everything in the world. Please come shout at me at malchikelf.tumblr.com


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